The Chaos Theory
by Rogue137
Summary: PostDK. Sometimes taking things into your own hands is dangerous. Sometimes it allows you to save the world. But most of the time you'll find yourself pinned against the wall, thinking it was a really stupid idea. Most of the time, you lose who you were.
1. Don't Talk To Strangers

**Author's note:** (sheepishly) I couldn't help myself. I got caught in the Dark Knight madness. (hangs head in mock shame) _Curse you Heath Ledger and your amazing acting skillz that implant themselves into my brain! _BUT...this story will not be a romance.

Any sebsequent fics are exempt from this statement. XD

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dark Knight, The Phantom of the Opera, or V for Vendetta (see if you can catch the reference). Just my OC and my dreams. (pout)

The Chaos Theory

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I didn't have the chance to blink. A metallic taste filled my mouth, and my throat felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.

"I always love this musical. So…_reflective _of the female's need to be the saving gra_ce_. The Point of No Return. Mmm. I must say, though. That…uh…Gerald _But_ler guy just doesn't seem to have the—heh—ten_a_city for his disfigurement. Too much like moaning over sunburn. Oh, but it _is_ rom_antic_, don't get me wrong. You maternal instincts must have, uh, loved that, though…huh?"

"Can't help those maternal instincts," I muttered hoarsely, still too dazed for my reasoning to kick in and order me to stop talking to him. Or at least come back with something a little cleverer.

He giggled wildly as he crouched and made his face parallel to mine as he pressed my cheek upon the ground with deceiving gentleness. Nothing was broken, but I was sure I had bitten my tongue when he _playfully_ shoved me against the wall. Why…_why_ didn't I follow Jan to that self-defense class that one time?

"Well see what we can do with _that_, hmmm…won't we, nymph?"

As the madman I now understood and feared stood and hummed along with the music coming from the ancient beat box in the corner, I couldn't help but think, _Who woulda thought that a simple online conversation over the philosophy of the chaos theory would lead me to this? _

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My body grew cold with nervous energy as I logged onto the discussion forum. I've been anticipating my eventual return to the Bat Man debate all afternoon. Getting carried away about the vices of vigilantes was juvenile, but I didn't care if my opinion wasn't going to change the world. The intelligence of some of the users and the arguments they brought to the table created a three-dimensional world that was almost addictive to me.

Of course, there was always the problem of knowing when to stop. There's been more than a few nights that I found myself so engrossed in those silly discussions that I continued talking with some girl from Japan without realizing the time difference between there and Gotham. Needless to say, I struggled to keep from falling asleep at the desk those particular days.

Tonight I was safe; tomorrow was a Saturday and I was planning on taking the weekend off from partying/socializing and simply lie around the apartment anyway. My Zunes player was hooked to the computer and I was playing my so-called Debate Playlist. "Chumbawumba" by Tubthumber was the first, and its sacrilegious lyrics made me feel rebellious.

I will not deny that I am, in fact, a nerd stuck inside an editor's body.

I checked my other message boards, just to make sure nothing of extreme interest had slipped my notice. There were a couple new posts regarding the new government offices that were being filled, and one or two about Gordon's strategies as commissioner. Assured that I wouldn't be double-tasking tonight, I skimmed to find my new obsession—the Bat Man. It had been a hotspot for the past week, ever since the death of Harvey Dent and Commissioner Gordon's sudden change in relations towards the batty bat.

Some idiot on the second to last page made me grit my teeth in annoyance. He was one of those 'batman is gey lol'. I was tempted, but I decided not to treat him to a patented Maenad137 'troll post'. _Pick your fights. Pick your fights_, I repeated to myself before I skimmed through the rest of the page and clicked onto the next. I rested my chin on my left hand, reading the few new posts intently.

At the moment, I and a few of the more serious debaters on the forum had been relating tales of other vigilantes in myth and history. NietzscheMan2 made an interesting point on the side against vigilantism a few hours previously regarding thirst for revenge. It had been buzzing before that the Bat Man may have been screwed by the mob or something some point in his life, but no one mentioned it as a con in the guy's personal background. I told him this and, having done some psychological classes in college, expanded on the idea.

After a lengthy reply, I sat back, having satisfied myself with a concise, clever post. Lazily browsing the message boards once again, I saw that a few more newbies had logged on and made their way to the introductions page. Always liking to catch a wisp of a new personality, I scanned trough some of the profiles the new guys had posted. I replied with a few 'welcomes' to some that just said hi and expressed their interest in the forum. I left a longer response to a woman whose profile lined up fairly well with mine. It's nice to see a kindred spirit, even if it is online. But, I have yet to meet with someone who saw enough through my eyes that I felt a deeper understanding.

I returned to my specific topic to check for new posts. None yet, so I looked at the newer ones to see if I could lend a new perspective. There was nothing else of interest, so I began looking through the older posts. It was something I did when I was bored and it was too early to make dinner. Reviving dead topics were never really successful, but maybe I could find something…

I stopped my cursor from scrolling as the title caught my eye. I hadn't noticed it before, but it was only a couple days old.

_Anarchy_

Hmm. A touchy topic, no doubt. No wonder it only had one post. After the Joker's reign of terror, no one on the forum, even the boldest debaters, seemed to want to touch anything remotely related to that man's psyche. And for good reason. I let out a hiss of fear in remembrance of the ex-commissioner's funeral and my eyes flicked to the window that faced the street. The sniper, from what I heard in the news and from friends connected to the police force, had been practically directly across from my apartment. That day I had gone out to get groceries. I had to wait nearly four hours until I could get into my building because of all the ambulances and police. It still chilled me to think that I could have been sitting here, at my computer, when the shots were fired.

Morbid curiosity creeping into my better instincts, I hesitantly opened the thread.

_Dionysus0 posted-_

_Anarchy: a state of lawlessness and disorder (usually resulting from a failure of government) Princeton definition._

_Anyone want to argue this definition?_

I had seen Dionysus0 around before, but I hadn't read any of his or her posts. I only noted our parallel screen names. I had to admit it was a well-crafted debate question, if not untouchable. Regardless, it sparked my interest. I had deep opinions about anarchy and its supposed application. With all the fuss in Greece and my familiarity with punk societies in the city underground, I had more than my share of files of information about this topic.

I got up from my chair and stretched, thinking. I _could_ reply, just to see how far it would go. My reputation on the forum wouldn't be ruined just for one little post. I didn't have to bring up the Joker in expressing my opinion.

Leaning over the black, cushioned wheelie chair, I chewed on my upper lip as I stared at the screen, formulating my post in my head. I wanted it simple. I could expand upon it if anyone else was interested. My mind made up, I sat back down to type.

_Maenad137 replied-_

_Anarchy, in my mind, _is_ a state of lawlessness. Disorder too, yes, but not in the way most perceive the word. It implies no law. No order. No government. It is not so much a political philosophy as a personal philosophy. By not being chained by society or government, anarchy demands a personal strength to understand yourself and the people around you. Pure anarchy will not tolerate one person taking advantage of another, but rather a higher level of thinking that leaves a person to decide her or her utter fate for himself or herself with the new myriad of choices they are now given. I don't think it could be implemented until a few mindsets change, though. _

I sighed, reading over the post again to make sure I covered all my essential points. Leaving it for now, I returned once again to the Bat Man discussion. NeitzscheMan2 and a few others had rejoined the posting, but my mind kept sliding back to the Anarchy post. I hadn't seen Dionysus0 around for a few days. Maybe he or she forgot about it, or they were busy.

A little after seven o'clock I tore myself from the computer to throw a pot of water on the gas stove and set it to boil. Pasta was my only vice, and I had to suffer all week until I finally had the time to make it instead of rushing with microwave dinners. Sitting on the counter, swinging my legs like an impatient toddler, I watched the TV in the joined living/office room that I had turned down to background sound. Things have been relatively quiet in Gotham since the Joker was locked up in Arkham. If quiet could ever be used to describe this city.

Right now the subtitles were telling of the economic crisis and the slow but steady resurgence of the mob. They didn't say anything about the mob being uncontrolled and the police force becoming corrupted again.

What they did do, however, is reiterate the menace of the Bat Man. Being close friends with one of the cameramen who worked for the station, I noticed one of the secrets he revealed to me. The anchor woman blinked a lot if she knew the information she received was false. And those innocent blue eyes were fluttering like there was a fly buzzing around them as she retold the story of how Bat Man killed Harvey Dent, and that the citizens of Gotham should report any sightings of the winged crusader.

Curiosity rose up again in me, but having a deep mistrust in the media anyway, I sighed and accepted the mystery. I dumped a box of penne in the now bubbling water and jumped off of the counter to walk back to the computer.

My hand froze over the mouse when I clicked to refresh the page. The _Anarchy_ topic had three posts. And the last poster was Dionysus0. My faced flushed with anticipation as I clicked on the topic. I waited breathlessly as the page loaded.

Furiously scrolling down to the new reply, I was surprised that it was shorter than the first one.

_Dionysus0 replied-_

_That's the first interesting theory I've read in this entire forum. Good for you._

_Why don't you think anarchy could be implemented, say, right now? _

I smiled to myself before replying. So he was impressed. I liked impressing people.

_Maenad137 replied-_

_Because mankind is too blinded by their own selfishness and close-mindedness right now. There is no understanding between people anymore, and no one really cares to try. Anarchy will work when people understand themselves and their peers with an open mind. _

I didn't have to wait more than two minutes until a reply came. I eagerly opened it, half-forgetting my other thread.

_Dionysus0 replied-_

_And you think you meet that caliber of understanding?_

_Maenad137 replied-_

_Yes, I do. More than most of my peers. It frustrates me to see people unwilling to accept, or even try to eradicate, the differences of others. I know I have a perspective that's better than that. _

Another thing I will not deny; I'm kind of cocky.

_Dionysus0 replied-_

_From what I've seen, my nymph-y friend, you get quite passionate and stubborn in your own discussions. _

_Hypocrisy is unbecoming. Be careful. _

I felt sheepish. He was right about the stubbornness. I hesitated before starting my reply.

_Maenad137 replied-_

_Finally, someone who cared to decipher my s/n. _

_I won't say that I don't get carried away sometimes. I do. But I'm not ashamed of asserting the need for people to stop being sheep-like about stupid ideals that society has ingrained into their heads. They need to let go of some things as unexplained and life is chaotic. They need to understand that chaos is not simply a negative connotation of the Merriam-Webster definition of utter confusion. It is creation and understanding and truth itself. They can't see that, and I get impassioned about it and try to show them my spark of truth in whatever form the conversation takes. _

My furious typing made me slip in a near-trance as I mindlessly sent my reply. Regaining my breath again, I read over my post and reddened. I didn't mean to spill my spiritual beliefs. Just my political ones. _I do get carried away. _

Dionysus0 replied immediately.

_Dionysus0 replied-_

_Time's up. I'd like to discuss this later. Don't worry. I'll be around soon enough. _

_You interest me, nymph. _

Blinking slowly at the reply, I suddenly felt drained, and this surprised me. I've never felt this drained before by a discussion. Agitated usually, infuriated at some things. But drained? It was odd.

Then I heard the hissing and spitting like a viper had found its way into my room.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, jumping up from my chair, sending it spinning wildly. My pasta was boiling over, the water pouring over the side and sizzling on the hot iron. I quickly turned off the gas and used a cloth to lift the pot to the cool counter. I swore again as some of the hot water splashed on my wrist, but I placed the pot down and grabbed the pasta strainer. I put it in the sink, and then dumped the penne into it. As the water poured down the drain, I took a penne and ate it. I sighed. It was salvageable, but it was mushier than I would have liked.

Mixing in some virgin olive oil and can of tomato sauce, I made my dinner and put some in a bowl to carry to the computer. I studied Dionysus's reply again, puzzling. Why didn't he give his opinion? It's not uncommon, but it's usually polite to share your own stance so there's an equal exchange of ideas. Sighing again, I logged out and contented myself in moving to the television. I changed the station to National Geographic and settled in.

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Dionysus didn't reply the rest of the weekend, or Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I noticed that I often got distracted from my work because my mind was on that short conversation. And, in retrospect, it was quite short for me to be getting all anxious over it. I knew I was being ridiculous, letting my addiction cross over into my workspace. It happened before, but it was still frustrating.

Eventually I did get a reply, but it wasn't what I expected.

My expectations had been failing me a lot lately.

I was reading a new manuscript at my desk early Thursday morning when my email pinged. Slumped over a page with a pen in hand and both my elbows on my desk, I was loath to tear my eyes away from the stack of papers. I had to get through this before the weekend, and I was already behind from all my sneaking peeks at my online forum. I had been caught by Jan doing just that. _Stella, _she had said. _You're lucky I'm not Kruss. Watch yourself. _I stuttered some excuse about having a small break.

I glared at my computer. I didn't have time for emails. I told myself I could check it during lunch. I knew I needed to finish. Regardless, I turned from the manuscript and opened the window on my computer. There were three new messages. I steeled myself to skim through them and get back to work.

My mouth dropped open when I saw that one of the senders was a person by the name of Dionysus0 at the domain AA dot com. Pleasantly surprised, I quickly opened the email and read the message.

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_Madame Maenad,_

_Don't ask how I got your email. It ruins the fun, and you sound like someone who lets mysteries lie. _

_I think our conversation would be best served this way. I don't think anyone else in our forum will want to join in anyway. It's gotten too interesting. _

_So. You mentioned chaos. I have a similar fascination with the idea. What do you think of the use of chaos as the catalyst of anarchy? _

I began to reply in eager anticipation, but stopped. I was at work. Being in such a place, I actually had work to do. Letting out a huff of annoyance, I erased the beginning of my reply and typed a quick message.

_Message by StellaR:_

_Dionysus,_

_I'm in purgatory—also known as a job in editing—right now. I get off for lunch at one for about an hour. Will you be online then?_

He had a short reply as well.

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_HaHa. _

_I'll see what I can do. _

I probably didn't do a thorough job with the chunk of editing I had been assigned to do, but I was nervously tapping my foot the whole time I circled words and crossed out passages with merciless swipes of a red pen. The digital clock on my desk was being exasperating in its sluggishness to tick past the hours. Eventually I gave up and dig myself into my work.

Then, another ping came from my computer. I looked at the clock. One on the dot. I shoved the manuscripts into their respective folders and swiveled my chair to face my computer screen. Sure enough, the ping had come from Dionysus.

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_Looks like we won't have a problem with communication for the time being. Are you free to continue? _

Would it be too forward to say that I'd been waiting for this conversation to restart all week? Yeah, it probably would.

_Message by StellaR:_

_I have to say I have no opinion about your question right now. I think I get a question now. _

_What do you know of the chaos theory?_

Like usual, Dionysus was quick to reply.

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_OH, fine. Ha. _

_I think it's a theory, nothing more. Something silly to think upon, but really a useless mound of information. Actions mean a hell of a lot more than some fluttering little _theory_ making you sit down and think of the pros and cons. What does it do? Nothing. The application of such theories is a lot more convincing to me than the discussion of them. _

_Maybe you need to take your little obsession and test it. Maybe sometime soon. _

I pursed my lips, slightly affronted.

_Message by StellaR:_

_What _obsession_?_

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_Anarchy. Chaos. Philosophy. Politics. Editing. Whichever you think is most important to you. Hey, it's all relative, isn't it? _

_Just do something. You're losing your interest value._

_Message by StellaR:_

_Interest value? Thanks. _

_Message by Dionysus0:_

_Ooh, look. The news has some news for once. Maybe this is your chance to do something._

_Just don't waste it on your ass discussing it on that lovely forum of yours. HaHa. I'll be talking to you real soon…regardless of what you chose. _

As I was finishing Dionysus's cryptic message, a muffled roar of voices met my ears. Brows furrowed in confusion, I stood and walked out of my office. The noise was coming from the lounge. I briskly walked towards it, the voices growing louder and more alarmed by the second.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked as I opened the lounge door. My entire floor was crowded within it, including Mr. Kruss. All of them had a frantic expression on their faces, and all of their eyes were glued to the flat screen mounted on the wall. Guessing this was the source of the uproar, I turned my attention to it. My breath caught in shock as I read the title under a wide-eyed anchor.

I couldn't hear him for all the voices, but I could certainly read the breaking news.

The Joker had escaped Arkham Asylum.

Trying to swallow, I leaned heavily on the doorsill, trying to calm the instinctive, paralyzing fear that had been embedded upon me by the entirety of Gotham in their collective terror of the scarred man with the war paint. It helped a little to know that it was an irrational fear unless the Joker was in the same building.

Knock on wood.

"Mr. Kruss, I need to get my kids out of school. You can take it out of my paycheck, but I need to go," one of my co-workers shouted to my boss over the hubbub. Mr. Kruss nodded weakly. This caused a wave of excuses for each of the editors to leave. Shaken by the increased volume, Mr. Kruss bellowed for everyone to calm down.

"Since it looks like most of you are willing to risk your paycheck over a bit of news, I guess I can't stop of you. But!" He raised his hands to keep the mob of people from rushing out. "But it will come out of your paycheck, and I expect you all to be here tomorrow, or your jobs will be on the line." He stepped aside then, and I quickly jumped out of the way as a mass of people rushed for the door.

As soon as they were gone, with only Mr. Kruss left staring at the television, I hesitantly went to my office. Trying to keep my calm amidst my fellow editors frantically trying to leave their office to check on their friends and loved ones, I slowly sat back down at my desk. I had all my friends on my cell, and my family lived far from Gotham. I convinced my brain to think I didn't have to worry about anyone but myself right now as Gotham was probably in chaos. Negative chaos.

_Probably what the Joker wants. Stir them like throwing a wolf-scented rag among sheep. I'm not a sheep. _

Setting my jaw, I returned to my work. A few others had the courage to make the same choice. I noticed that none of those who stayed had children or family in the Gotham area. I made a mental note not to judge them too harshly for leaving early.

No more emails came as the day drew a close. My mind was mostly preoccupied with the unsettling news, but I couldn't help but think that this Dionysus guy must either live outside of Gotham, or has a really sick sense of humor by casually tossing the news in her face.

It was five when I began to pack up my manuscripts into my bag, double-checking to make sure my can of mace and pocketknife was still in my purse. I put both in my jacket pockets, for easier reach. I was lucky enough to choose the one day that the Joker escaped to have no choice but to take the subway back home. I usually had Jan take me, but she had her boyfriend and her mother to touch base with, so she left early like the bulk of the building.

I was given some warnings when I answered questions of how I was getting home, but I brushed them off and took the elevator to go out into the street. Few people were out; unusual for the business district of Gotham. Those who were out had their shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. Fear was thick in the air. I shoved my hands deep in my jacket pockets, both hands grasping my weapons as I made my way quickly to the subway.

Hardly anyone was there either, which didn't surprise me. I paid my fare and waited on a bench for the next train. The couple of people who were there were no different from those aboveground in their stances, except for their eyes. Eyes were watchful, tense, waiting to spot anything out of the ordinary. I couldn't help but feel cold with their dread.

Finally the nearly empty train arrived. We scuttled quickly inside as the doors slide open, and then closed behind us. A woman about my age jumped in her seat when the train lurched forward. I let out a breath. Whatever happens doesn't matter. I meditated upon that fact, and felt the fear sticking from me, due to the fact that the air was thick with it, slide away.

My eyes, which I didn't realized were closed, opened when I felt the train come to its third stop. I stepped out, my hands still gripping the knife and mace. I hadn't seen anyone else disembark, and no one was waiting on the benches. The train left with a squeak of sliding doors and a rush of metal. I swallowed, forcing my nervousness down to keep it from detracting me. Gotham was dangerous enough without the Joker. I needed to keep from running from shadows.

"Maenad. Female follower of Dionysus, often portrayed as inspired by him into a state of ecstatic frenzy. Though, heh, it seems that I've been following _you_."

Little did I know that it was shadows I was supposed to be running from. I slowly turned around to face the speaker. I was wrong. Someone had gotten off with me. His unmistakable laugh stretched the scars that I could now see from under his purple baseball cap as he pushed away from the walls where the eerie green of the subway lights didn't reach. His dress was hardly distinctive from what she had seen on the news; just slacks and a dark button-up shirt under a blazer whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

"Not so, uh, confiden_t_ now, are we, nymphy?" he continued giggling darkly, a fascinatingly morbid thing.

"Dionysus," I breathed, my body, face, emotions, thoughts all frozen by the presense before me. I knew I should be feeling curiosity, shock, confusion, something that would make sense to my carefully constructed structure of how I was supposed to deal with situations. But I felt none of these. I felt like a woman facing death. And I didn't know what that was supposed to mean about me.

"You know…" he drawled, grabbing my arm, having an expression of mocking anger on his face. "You didn't email me _back_. We were _hav_ing a goo_d_ conver_sa_tion." Then he threw his head back in short, wild bark of glee. My instinctive acversion of physical touch made me tug firmly from his grasp. My voice wasn't working yet, but part of me was telling me that no one would listen to my scream. This was Gotham.

And Gotham's greatest criminal cocked his head to the side and gave me a look that was more for an old woman scolding little children than for a known mass murderer looking at...well, me.

"Does this smell like chloroform to you?" he asked in a low voice before he shoved me against the cement walls of the subway and covered my mouth and nose with a wet cloth. My body instinctively made me take a shocked breath, and my short-lived struggle came to an abrupt end as the pain from my head dulled and I started slipping into unconsciousness.

Two things registered in my mind before I went completely out. One, I wondered at the fact that I had seen the Joker without his makeup. Two, he said something strange in my ear.

"Let's see how much chaos knows about _you_."

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	2. Destruction and Creation

**Author's Note:** Long chapter. (shrugs) I have _Dark Knight_ so close within my reach…but I have to wait until Christmas. (sigh) Oh, well. No muse for me for this chapter. At least exams are over. And, I warn you beforehand in lieu of some of the intensity/violence/swearing that is in this chapter. This IS rated T for a reason.

**Reviewers: **

Tryliving – Thanks for being my first reviewer! I like this title, too.

Lukeyg – Wow, long review! Appreciate it a lot. I like that you delved deeper than most into the potential of this story of mine. The V for Vendetta reference was not thought out, I'll admit. I just wanted to throw something in, as it inspired the anarchy subplot a little. And the chloroform line is actually something my boyfriend does to me sometimes (rolls eyes). I think he got it from a movie.

**Disclaimer:** I reference movies a lot, don't I? Well, I don't own any of them, including the one I'm actually writing about.

The Chaos Theory

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It's quite an experience, waking from a forced unconsciousness. It's not pleasant, I'll tell you that. I had an unfamiliar, burningly sweet taste in my mouth as I slowly began to fight for lucidity. Part of me wanted to slip back into sleep, but something warned me that I was in danger. As the nagging in the back of my head tried to awaken my memory, I opened my eyes with effort.

I was lying on the cracked floor of an indoor basketball court.

Terribly disoriented, I forced my arms to move and push me up where I was lying on my side. I dropped back down again when a violent head rush made my vision blurry and my head pound. I swore, waiting a minute until the sudden headache eased. I blinked a few times and slowly sat up again.

After looking around the empty gym in a moment of confusion, I remembered why I couldn't recall falling asleep here. My stomach clenched in terror.

"Oh shit. Ohhhh_ shit_," I whispered hoarsely, drawing my knees to my chest in instinctive fear. I was trapped. I was trapped in_ his_ game. And I was going to die.

Naturally, this epiphany didn't go over well with me. I fought to keep from seeing those horrible news videos in my memory and, of course, from hyperventilating. He was going to torture me. I just knew it. I remembered the screams from the television. It was all too easy to mentally replace the screams of strangers with my own.

What was he going to do first? Slap me around, taunt me? Was he going to film it, like the others? Or would he just cut my throat and be done with it?

_Snap out of it, Stella,_ the stern, rational voice in the back of my mind (it always seemed to sound like my mom) ordered. _Calm down, for godssake. You're not dead yet. _With this, I took a shaky breath.

Right. Not dead yet. But it seemed a likely possibility in the near future, so I decided that I should probably find a way to avoid that in any way necessary. I got up on lethargic legs and took a quick scan of my surroundings. No sign of anyone, not even the Joker. It was completely silent.

I was so stupid. _Why didn't I even try pull out the mace?_ I fumed. But I knew why; I was so rooted by my shock at seeing Dionysus-slash-the Joker in that subway station that I couldn't think straight. For some reason, I thought I had more sense than that. Speaking of the mace, I checked my jacket pockets and affirmed what I already guessed. They were empty. Frustrated, I decided to check the doors; although I was pretty sure they would be locked. But, who knows? You can't predict what the Joker would do.

They were locked. I tugged uselessly the rusted, blue handles, and then dropped my hands in defeat. I _could_ break a window. I didn't think this gym would be more than one story off of the ground. I could survive that kind of a jump, if it meant escape. But the sound of breaking glass would probably have someone running, and I was sure that the Joker or one of his lackeys was lurking around somewhere close.

Growling under my breath, I decided to steel my nerve and wait this—whatever it was—out. I got as opposite from the door as possible and sat down against the wall, my heart refusing to stop its frightened-bird fluttering.

_I could do this,_ I told myself, my jaw clenched. _I can face death. Pain…I can scream and gasp in pain and fight back, but I won't beg. I can't let him have that._

I wouldn't forgive myself, even in death, if I begged.

So I leaned my head back against the wall and tried to slow my breathing, bring my mind into that point of calm that would help me deal with the un-pleasantries of my future. I did this with my eyes open, always focused on that blue door across the gym.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that my awareness had slipped into Nothing. Thoughts, now unbound, swirled in my conscious and I alighted on one in detached curiosity.

It was Joker's alter-ego, Dionysus0. I still couldn't grasp the reason why the Joker, of all people, would want to waste his time on a discussion forum. Didn't he have better things to do, like escaping Arkham? Well, he obviously did that, but what gave him incentive to talk to me when he could've been—I don't know—blowing things up?

Or perhaps that was the wrong question. Maybe what I should be asking is…what did he_ want_ out of talking to me on that forum? Was it just another one of his sick games, or was it something more? Knowing the Joker though (which is probably a bad idea), it was probably just a game and I was looking too far into it. I let that thought go.

_If I survive this_, I thought wryly. _I'm never logging onto a discussion forum ever again. _

And then I heard it: faint, hollow pounding. I snapped to attention and scrambled to stand with my back pressed against the wall. My ears were ringing with the blood rushing to my head again. The pounding grew closer. It was odd…it was a familiar sound. I instinctively swallowed, feeling the adrenaline flooding my system.

A few agonizing seconds later, the pounding stopped, and someone fumbled with what sounded like keys. With a _click_ that echoed off of the walls of the gym, the door was unlocked, and began to open. My breathing picked up, and I was beginning to feel weak.

_No, not yet. Hold steady, damn it._

"Well, well, _well_. Did someone have a nice na_p_?" The ending 'p' popped out like it was a bubblegum bubble.

He was carrying a basketball. That explained the familiar pounding. My fight or flight response was curbed by curiosity. He licked his lips when an awkward silence fell, a strange gesture that I assumed to be a habit by the way he did it without a particular expression.

"Wanna play a game?"

My expression froze, and I felt the blood drain from my face. The Joker chuckled, and threw the basketball at me, hard. It soared nearly halfway across the court and bounced twice. I automatically stepped toward it and grabbed it. I stayed where I was, unsure of the situation.

"A _basketball_ game?" I deadpanned. His blackened eyes grew wide with feigned innocence.

"What other?" he asked, a sneer unable to stay away from his lips as he calmly walked towards me, rolling up his sleeves. He was wearing a dark green vest over a purple button-up shirt with darker purple pants. They seemed like they were edged in dust, or ash. I could only guess what he'd been doing before gracing me with an offer of a one-on-one.

I took a few steps back, growing cold. He stopped walking and stared at me darkly, his stance hunched.

"I'm, uh…" My voice caught in my dry throat. I coughed weakly. "I don't play basketball." I threw it back, my old baseball arm kicking in. It reached the Joker in one arc. He caught it, and then looked back from the ball to me, smirking again.

"No, I guess no_t_." His consonants were very clear, like he chewed every word. "You're the st_u_dious type, isn't that right? Oh, speaking _of_…we never _did_ get to finish our little conver_sa_tion, Maenad-thir_teen_-seven_._"

"What is it that _interests_ you about our little conver_sa_tion, Dionysus-_zero_?" I asked, my jaw tight and my fists clenched at my side. Just then, a tinny ring of a cell phone pierced through the gym.

"That's mine," the Joker said, theatrically pulling a silver cell phone from his pocket. Dropping the basketball unceremoniously, he flipped it open. The ball bounced off to the left. "Mr. J."

He paused, and grimaced.

"_Yes_, Harley, I'm busy…Yes…He hasn't come around yet? I'm _sure_ you can per_suade_ him, shnookums."

He made a face at me and rolled his eyes pointedly.

"I'd _prefer _you no_t_ cut him up_ too_ badly. Yes, _Harl_…" He pulled the phone from his face and glared at it. "No," he barked, and hung up. He looked up at me and shrugged.

"Sorry about that." He didn't look sorry at all. "Flirt with a shri_nk_ for _one_ second, and they're all over you. Nasty little bird, but she has her uses…Let's…uh…let's _not_ tell Harl about _this_, huh?" He motioned at the space between us. "She migh_t_ get the wrong id_e_a."

My lips were pursed tightly, watching him with caution.

"R_i_ght," he muttered in a low voice, grinning. "_You_ want to know why I drugged n' dragged you in here." I nodded slightly. Rubbing his hands together, he paced towards me. I backed up further, but stopped before I hit the wall. I _really_ didn't want to get pinned.

"It's simple. You made me _think_, and I don't _do_ that a lot. I just…_do_." He stopped when he was a good two feet away. I could see the sheen his greasy green hair gave off under the fluorescent lights of the gym, and the cracks of skin that showed under his white face paint. His pale hands had calluses and scrapes and ash on them. "You see, I have a _fond_ness for philosophy, as you do. And I have too much time on my hands, just like you do. We just, ah, _apply _our philosophies _diff_erently with the time that we have."

"As in, I debate on websites, and you set off bombs," I told him, flexing my hands back in forth into fists.

"Why don't we switch off, see how it _fits_?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, uh, if our ideas, which are pretty _sim_ilar if you ask _me_, are so close, wouldn't it be _logical_ that our lifestyles can _over_lap?"

"I don't like killing people," I said. He shrugged.

"Then if you're so _keen_ with _chaos_…" He said it with a strange caress in his voice. "…why are you an ed-i-tor?"

"I went to college. I chose something I was good at, and I'm paid well for it," I muttered, struggling to keep eye contact. "Why did you call yourself Dionysus?"

"I was _bored_. I was on the internet in Arkham with a white coat _hang_ing over my shoulder, and I came across some Greek legends. Eventually I got around to your forum, and hacked your computer to find your email. Did you _know_," he drawled, "that _Chaos _was an entity thought up by the ancient Greeks?"

"Yes. She was the first of the Protogenoi, the primeval gods," I told him. "She's sometimes mistaken with Eris, the goddess of chaos and strife. Eris is, uh, also the matron deity of Discordianism."

"Yes, well, _any_way," the Joker cut in. "Why not act upon it _direct_ly? Why l_ea_ve it in the forums?"

"I _do_ act upon it," I insisted coldly, not liking how my tone sounded almost childish in its assertion.

"_How?_" he asked, cocking his head to the side mockingly, leaning into me. I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping still as he got uncomfortably close.

"Why are you _interested_?" I asked him again, my heart pounding. One slip and I'm dead. Did I forget that?

The Joker smiled cruelly.

"Because I wan_t_ to see, with all your _words_ that you hide behind, if you could stand _up_ to tr_u_e chaos. The, uh, appli_ca_tion, if you will," he said. I tensed in horror as he reached into his vest and pulled out a pistol. His grin growing wider, he cocked it and pointed it at me, then to the door. Catching his meaning, I backed towards it, my eyes wide upon the gun in his battered hands. "Hy_poc_risy is unbecoming of you, nymph-y, so I ho_p_e you don't, uh, disappoin_t_."

He ushered me out of the gym. The blue door led to a long, windowless hallway. Dilapidated was the basic word to describe the building I found myself in. I was obviously on the bottom floor of some abandoned school. Faded posters and broken glass littered the floor. We passed classrooms with the doors hanging pathetically on the hinges and lewd graffiti decorating the old chalkboards. Eventually we reached the main double-doors and stepped outside, me leading the way with a wary eye still on that damn gun. He led me to the side of the school, to a plain white van that was parked by the dumpsters.

With the gun still pointed at me, the Joker checked out surroundings and made his way to the car. His movements reminded me of a restless animal, like a stray dog. He flung open the back doors of the van and turned to me.

"Want me to, uh, drug ya again, or will you come _quietly_?" he asked, passing a tongue over his lower lip. The gesture seemed to come from a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. My stomach dropped, but I climbed into the back. The Joker shut the doors almost immediately after me. I pulled my feet back in time, but the message of intimidation was clear.

I should have played basketball with him instead.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

There was no light in my enclosure. I could only hear the engine growl under me and feel the jarring bumps that slammed me against the metal walls. I could feel myself trembling from dread. What the hell did he want with me now?

Having partially accepted the fact that I was probably going to die, what I truly feared was how he wanted to play with me before getting to my end. I was the mouse to his cat; the opening act to his comeback. I tried not to think about where we were going.

I heard music coming from the front of the van, where the Joker was driving. I couldn't make out anything familiar, but I allowed it to distract me from the god-awful swerves and sudden jerks. He was driving way too fast, but I guessed it would be a lost cause to shout at him to slow down. My hands were sore from trying to steady myself and keeping my head from banging against the sides of the van, and I was growing tired as the adrenaline sucked the energy from my body.

After an interminable amount of time, the van began to slow its wild pace. After a few more potholes and some unintelligible grumbling coming from the front, it stopped altogether. I scrambled to the back when I felt the van shift as the Joker disembarked and the loud _bang_ shook the vehicle as he shut his door. Shoes crunching gravel signaled his approach to the back. A jingle of keys, and he unlocked the doors and opened them. I blinked from the sudden sunlight. When my eyes adjusted, I saw that he had the pistol in his hand again, and he had donned an ankle-length purple duster and the hand holding the gun was gloved. I'd heard he dressed like a clown, but the words and grainy photos on the television and newspapers didn't do him justice. He looked positively menacing in his full get-up. There was hardly anything garishly bright about him, let alone clownish.

"Out," he barked at me. I slowly made my way to the edge. I stood in a crouch to jump down when I noticed the Joker offered his weaponless hand to me. I looked at the hand, then at him. I didn't trust the glint in his eyes, and I guessed my expression betrayed that, because his hand dropped with a patronizing smirk. I leapt from the van, landing unsteadily.

"So?" I asked him when I straightened, my voice low and angry. His smirk stayed, and he simply motioned with his gun towards the building we were parked by. "You're not going to tell me what the _hell_ you're going to do with me?"

"What fun is there in _that_?" he chuckled lightly. He gave my shoulder an aggressive shove in the direction of the small door on the side of the building. It was at least twenty stories, perhaps an office at some point, or an apartment complex. The train system ran right beside it, and the sound of passing trains was deafening. It looked like I was in the Narrows.

"What fun indeed?" I mocked under my breath as I walked to the building. He guided me inside and to a pair of elevators in the cramped space. I refused to look at him as he casually punched the up button with the butt of his gun. The door slid open with little difficulty. Obviously despite its abandoned looks, it was still in use. I entered, pressing against the left corner. The Joker stepped inside as well and pressed a knob that was labeled as the twenty-fifth floor. The doors slid closed, and I found myself in a tight, enclosed space with the Joker. I tried to swallow inconspicuously as I caught him staring at me from his slouched position against the corner opposite mine. The man exuded unbridled power. I could feel the cloud of chaos that he carried with him engulf the small elevator lift, nearly suffocating in its potency.

After a few moments, though, I got used to it. My chest released some of its tenseness, and my nails didn't bite as hard into my crossed arms. Some of the anxiety was replaced, once again, by detached interest as I found myself studying the man who kidnapped me. A question came into my head as I stared unabashedly back at him, but I hesitated. Did I want to know? Would he even give me a straight answer?

"Where did you get your scars?" I asked, finding my voice was surprisingly even. The Joker blinked. I worried for a second that I probably asked a dangerous question. He licked his lips and his seemingly permanent smirk was replaced by feigned seriousness. Yeah. It was dangerous.

"Now why would an, uh, inno_cent_ young lady such as your_self_," he asked slowly, passing a lazy finger over the muzzle of the pistol, "want me to tell you such a _gruesome_ tale?"

"Curiosity," I muttered, uncertain of myself. He looked up at the digital numbers creeping upward as we rose. We were only hitting the tenth floor.

"You _re_ally want to k_no_w?" the Joker asked, leaning in to me conspiratorially. Keeping a guarded front, I nodded. He sighed, as if this was a story he told one too many times. "Well…I used to be this, ah, entrepre_neur_, see? Made a good bit of money. Spent it on girls and drugs."

"Like _American Psycho_," I commented dryly.

"Hmm…You know that, uh, _Bate_man character? He reminds me of someone."

"You, right?"

"Ha ha. No. I wasn't _that_ rich…and I don't nail girls with coat hangers," he said, waving my comment away. "Now you got me sidetracked. Do you _want_ to hear the rest or no_t_?" I shrugged, eyeing his pistol as he waved it around in exasperation. He stepped closer to me. I had nowhere to back further away, so I tried to act impassive to his close proximity.

"So I'm at home alone one night, right? I'm feeling restless, itchy. I need a _fix_, but my dealer caught me with his girl the other day and, uh, let's say I didn't want to see him quite so soon after the fact. I stumble out of my apartment and grab my car and start towards the Narrows. A few _whores_ were around, but I wasn't interested. The burning sensation in my throat was _killing_ me. It was probably stupid of me to be peeking into alleyways looking for dealers. I should have known that my old dealer was trailing me, looking for some rev_eng_e.

"I had stopped by a usual spot, and was waiting for the few dark figures lounging by a falafel stand to notice me. I shouted at them a few times, but they just stared at me. I was too distracted to realize that the one guy I was avoiding had slipped into the passenger seat.

"'Whatcha doin' here?' he asked. He had a knife in his hand.

"'Get the fuck outta my car,' I told him. He, uh, didn't listen.

"'You've been screwin' Ruthie, and screwin' me,' he snapped. 'Where's my money?'

"'I don't owe you anything,' I said. He grabbed my collar and I saw his pupils. He'd been using, and bad things _tend _to happen when a dealer uses his own stuff."

Suddenly the Joker reached out a hand and snatched me. I didn't even realize he had switched his gun for a knife. I was too slow to react when he took my face in a bruising grip, continuing his story. I tried to pull away, more out of my aversion to close human contact than fear. But then I felt the danger of the knife as he held it close to my stomach, and ceased my struggle.

"'You think you're better than me, don't you, you rich prick?' he said. 'You think can get any ass you want?' He leaned into me and pulled his knife on me, sticking it into my mouth. Like this."

With some struggle, the Joker managed to shove his own knife into my mouth, pressing it against the inside of my cheek. My breathing stopped. I didn't even shudder. It was like I was paralyzed by his eyes, like a mouse facing the cat.

"He was _laugh_ing then, and cut me up pretty badly, as you can _see_. While I was lying slumped against the dashboard, a river of red staining the wheel, he got into my ruined face and said…"

He leaned very close into my face, the knife pressing uncomfortably into my flesh.

"'Let's see how much ass you get now, _freak_.'"

The Joker then removed the knife carefully and pulled away, laughing at my traumatized expression. I finally remembered to breathe, and inhaled shakily. After a moment, I found my voice, weak as it was.

"Doesn't seem enough to make the Joker," I said.

"Of _course_ not. _That_ is a story for another time," he said cheerfully as the elevator started to slow to a stop. With a jolt and a _ding_, they slid open again. We faced a stairway that led to what looked like the roof. The Joker stepped out first. I followed after some hesitation.

We climbed the stairs and the Joker got me out onto the roof. It overlooked a good part of Gotham. I stopped at the doorway as the Joker walked purposefully towards a large metal box by the ledge facing what looked like the center of Gotham. He looked over his shoulder at me, and beckoned me over. I warily obeyed. He was pulling two devices from the box, identical in nature. They looked like remotes. I balked, guessing what they were for with a sense of dismay coming over me.

"Why am I here?" I said, my voice thick with dark emotion. He straightened, looking down at me. He licked his scars, and his lips pulled up in a wide, frightening smile.

"_This_," he said, motioning to the black devices, "is your test, nymph-y. These are hooked up to trigger two sets of _explo_sives under two buildings. Both buildings are symbols of the corruption of society, of a fight against _anarchy_. They aren't all that important to your supposed _goal_, but the destruction of each will become its own symbol. So, what will it be? Starbucks, or Town Hall? Materialistic _Corp_oration, or the Establishmen_t_? Your choice."

"You want me to_ blow_ up a _building_? With _people_ inside?" I hissed, growing cold with shock.

"Don't the _ends_, uh, justify the _means_? I wouldn't know. I don't plan on any ends. _You, _however,_ you_ wanted anarchy, so you're getting it. Hey, you even get a hand in it! Choose soon, or they both go up-up-up. Or isn't _that_ what you want? Hmm…" He put his thumbs on both detonators.

"_No_!" I shouted, jerking towards him, my hands raised pleadingly. He paused, an eyebrow raised expectantly. "Please, don't make me do this. It's ridiculous. It's in-"

"In_sane_?" he finished, laughing. "Welcome to the real world. We're all just in one long, _insane_ merry-go-round! If you want to _do_ something about it, you have to play by the rules that govern the _insane_."

"I'm _not_ going to play by _your_ rules!" I exclaimed, my hands curling into fists. "I will _not_ be _governed_ by what _you _think I should be governed by!"

"Than _what_ do you want to be governe_d_ by?" the Joker asked, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth like a spastic snake's as he gestured frantically to emphasize his point. "Obviously not by the govern_ment_, as you want anarchy. Obviously not your_self_, because you second-guess every instin_ct_ that comes into your self-righteous little head…"

"I don't _care_. I will _not _be sucked into your game."

"You will not, you will not, you will not," he mocked. "So…so _clear_ly, being the observer and not _act_or as you are, you won't_ care_ that I choose for you…?" He raised the devices again.

"Stop!" I said, trembling with anger as it dawned on me that I was caught amidst my own morals.

"Ten Mississippi."

"You _can't_."

"I, uh, _assure_ you. I _can_. Eight Mississippi…seven Mississippi…"

"I don't want this to be the way the world changes."

"Too bad. Five Mississippi. Four Mississippi."

My mind sputtered. I had to choose. He'd do what he wanted regardless, but I would choose.

"Okay! Fine. Town Hall. Blow up fucking _Town Hall_."

His lips curled into his vicious smile as he pressed the button of the detonator in his right hand.

A second of absolute silence, and there it was. Right over the Joker's left shoulder a flume of orange and black billowed over the rooftops of the Narrows, accompanied by a faint roar. I rushed to the side, gripping the rusted metal railing. My mind cried out in horror, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the blaze and smoke. There was something morbidly…beautiful about it.

My jaw clenched at the thought, rebelling against it. I pushed away from the railing.

"Did I pass your damned test?" I breathed, rage reddening my face. "Or did you just blow up Starbucks instead, and this was all a part of your petty games?"

"No, that_ was_ Town Hall." He looked all too pleased with himself, and it infuriated me.

"Then what?" I shouted, getting in his face. "Are you happy that I proved myself against hypocrisy? Or do you want to play with me more, like some puppet to ensure your own twisted perspective on life?"

"I don't know. I don't care _what_ I do!" he said, still smiling. "It's all part of the _fun_. All part of _teasing_ order with chaos. I thought I just _showed_ you that."

"Chaos is not only destructive. It is creative. What are_ you_ creating out of this?" I snapped. His lips turned down for a moment, making a twisted grimace as his painted scars fought to keep the illusion of happiness. "Exactly. Nothing. For someone who fawns over chaos like a puppy after a bouncy ball, you _don't _live up to the nature of it."

"And, uh, you think you do? What are _your_ words doing for you? You are creating nothing, destroying nothing. You stand by and watch. Hyp-o-cri-sy, like _all_ the rest of mankind."

"At least I have it down in theory," I contested. "There cannot be perpetual disaster. Something rises from the ashes. Something always rises from the ashes. _That_ is Chaos."

"Well, nothing seems to be rising but, uh, _ashes_," he said, motioning towards the plume of smoke in the distance. "This city is rid of its _White_ Knight. Even the _Bat_ hardly comes out to play anymore. This city is spontaneously com_busting_. You can't stop it with your assurance of creation. There is nothing to be made out of it, and I'm showing people that. Gotham is a dying body. I'm a _mercy_ killer, as it were."

"Maybe you're wrong," I said, my voice tight.

"Maybe it doesn't matter."

He swung his fist. The hard metal of the detonator he just used connected with my temple and with a burst of pain I fell into unconsciousness for the second time.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Waking up was different from the first time, other than the fact that I was in the gym again.

First off, my head hurt. A _lot._ A frantic, hard throbbing on the left side of my head.

Secondly, I remembered how it got that way immediately. The vision of the Joker knocking me out with a piece of metal wasn't one I would forget.

Thirdly, I wasn't alone. The Joker was making free-shots at the net-less basket on the far side of the court.

And fourthly, there was music playing.

"_Masquerade/Every face a different shade/Masquerade/Look around/there's another mask behind you/Flash of mauve/Splash of puce/Fool and king/Ghoul and goose/Green and black/Queen and priest/Trace of rouge/Face of beast/Faces/Take your turn/take a ride on the merry-go-round/in an inhuman race…" _

Well. Wasn't expecting _that_.

I slowly sat up, careful not to move around too much with my head as it was. The Joker caught the movement and stopped his motion of tossing the basketball.

"What is it with you and knocking me out?" I told him, the feeling of resentment rising up in me as I began to recall the full details of the roof incident.

"Easier than having you kicking and screaming," he told me with a matter-of-fact attitude. "And a lot more entertaining." I decided not to comment on that.

"Phantom of the Opera fan? You are a man for irony," I said dully. He grinned.

"What? You like it?"

"The movie? Yes. You? No."

"You're a peculiar woman, nymph-y."

"It's Stella. And look who's talking," I retorted.

"You don't seem to have the same _fear_ as the other women I've encountered," he mused, walking towards me. I stood slowly. "Save Harley, but she's _nuts_. Your fear is more…rational?"

"Elaborate, please," I asked, feeling drained. It was the same feeling I had after the discussion forum with him. Like he'd absorbed all of my emotions. He stopped a few steps away from me, and began studying me.

"You push away irrational fear, like my _mere_ presence. You steel your need to scream when I get close to you…" To illustrate his point, he closed the distance between us. I stared wide-eyed at him, but I didn't move. "It's like…you'll accept whatever life throws at you. Oh, you'll _fight_ of course. But you would never be_g_. You don't have a fake visage of bravery like every other woman. Miss, ah, Rachel Dawes—you heard of her?—she was like you. But not talkative, unfortunate_ly_."

"And your point is?" I asked.

"You have that flick_er_ in your will that makes you think that you can ma_tch_ me," he hissed smugly. "You think you can be an equal. But you're no_t_."

"I know you can have me dead any moment."

"Ah! There it is! The little optimist inside you doesn't think I _will_ kill you," he exclaimed in glee, grabbing me by my shoulders painfully. "Like everyone else, you think your self-worth means _something_ to me. Even though you _are_…interesting."

I didn't have the chance to blink. My head hit the wall and the wind was knocked out of me. I fell to the ground.

"I always love this musical. So…_reflective _of the female's need to be the saving gra_ce_. The Point of No Return. Mmm. I must say, though. That…uh…Gerald _But_ler guy just doesn't seem to have the—heh—ten_a_city for his disfigurement. Too much like moaning over sunburn. Oh, but it _is_ rom_antic_, don't get me wrong. Your maternal instincts must have, uh, loved that, though…huh?"

"Can't help those maternal instincts," I muttered hoarsely, still too dazed for my reasoning to kick in and order me to stop talking to him. Or at least come back with something a little cleverer.

He giggled wildly as he crouched and made his face parallel to mine as he pressed my cheek upon the ground with deceiving gentleness. Nothing was broken, but I was sure I had bitten my tongue when he _playfully_ shoved me against the wall. Why…_why_ didn't I follow Jan to that self-defense class that one time?

"Well see what we can do with _that_, hmmm…won't we, nymph?"

I scrambled out from his grasp and stumbled to my feet, trying to ignore the tenderness on my tongue. I hated the taste of blood.

"See what I mean? You didn't prepare yourself for it. You didn't think I would hurt _you_, for some silly reason." He stalked towards me. I backed up unsteadily. He hadn't pulled his knife or the gun out yet. He was just toying with me. He had to be.

"You must understand. I am a force of _nature_. Unstoppable. The only being on this earth that has proved to be truly making his value to stay alive is the _Batman_; the unmovable object making my games worth while. You, nymph-y, are no_t_ Batman." He reached for my arm. Hardly thinking, I wrenched it from his grasp and cocked my arm back; I drove it forward with all the strength I could muster, my teeth bared.

A flash of shock passed by his face as he staggered a step back, hand going to his jaw. Then he began to laugh. I stepped back as well, my rage making me quiver. There was red paint on my hand. When the Joker removed his hand to smile knowingly at me, I saw that I had smeared the paint on his face that allowed some of the scar tissue on his cheeks to show through.

"Let me guess. Weight lifting?"

"Baseball," I spat. "Why?"

"Strong _arm_, but you don't know how to throw a punch," he told me evenly. "It'll leave a bruise, though, I'll give you tha_t_." I felt a little satisfied at the thought.

"So much for maternal instinct?" I said, letting my face harden stoically.

"Well, _that_ depends on the woman," he replied with a coy expression.

We said nothing for a minute.

"I want to go home," I told him.

"You didn't before?"

"I obviously can't threaten you," I sighed. "I just have to wait and see if you're going to keep me, kill me, or turn me loose."

"And _you_ think it's the latter," he accused.

"What do you think?" I shot back. He chuckled.

"You were a fun little game," he considered. "But I think you've outlasted your worth. For now."

"Is that an 'Okay, Stella, I'm done with you. You can go,' or an 'Okay, Stella. I'm done with you, but I'm going to keep you here until I'm bored again and need someone to throw unwillingly into my plans'?"

"Want me to knock you out again, or will you climb into the van willingly?"

"_Are you taking me home_?"

"You get to go back to your place, _yes_," The Joker sighed. I guess I didn't look all that convince because he rolled his eyes. "Alive and in one piece. Scout's Hon_or_."

"I can hardly see you as a Boy Scout," I said icily.

"Where did you think I got so good at making _fire_? Anyway, you could hardly see me listening to Celine Dion either, but we all have our little quirks."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After another bumpy ride in the van, I was let out inconspicuously in an alley across from the subway station. I didn't dwell on the miracle I was alive. I was focused on getting as far away from the Joker as possible.

He was dressed in the same get-up he had on when he kidnapped me when he swung the doors open. It was strange, seeing that without his paint and purple, it looked like an actual disguise. His bare, scarred face was his mask.

I couldn't help but stifle a smile, though, when I saw the developing bruise on his jaw.

He kept his knife in his hand, between his thumb and index finger. His stance was hunched, as always.

"Freedom waits," he said coolly, stepping to the side to let me out. Still not trusting his motives, I kept an eye on him as I edged to the back opening. He held his hand out, like he did before. I refused it again. I never liked the touch of another person, and the hidden malice in his gesture didn't help that.

Once on my feet, I hesitated, watching the Joker to see what he would do.

"What are you waiting for? My permission?" he mocked. I furrowed my brow and took a tentative step towards the subway station, and then another. Eventually I got the momentum and confidence that he wasn't going to shoot me and I turned my back on him. Just before I reached the steps heading underground, I caught a glimpse of a white van veering down the street out of sight.

It wasn't until I was sitting in the cracked, plastic seat of the subway car that everything fell into place at once. I struggled not to break into hysterics. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to accept what had happened to me.

I blew up Town Hall. I probably killed about five dozen people, or worse, from my choice. I couldn't blame the Joker for that, because, in some part of my mind, I felt pleased with doing it. He was right. The symbol was, for me, significant in my anarchist ideal. But that didn't make it twisted and unforgivable.

I wallowed in self-pity until I got home and turned on my television. Just by reading the subtitles, I could see that I had been a side-show in the Joker's personal circus. Other buildings had been blown up, other banks had been robbed, and other people had been murdered.

The Batman had been seen at nearly every crime scene, always, it seemed, a moment too late.

There were more threats, via both videos and letters, coming from the Joker and the mob. The public roared for Batman to give himself up to authorities as the threats grew with the Batman's popularity.

My heart began to pound. My knuckles still hurt from the force I had put behind my punch. I began to feel restless, and my mind started turning.

I knew I couldn't stand back and watch anymore._ He_ taught me that.

I'm no hero, like Batman. I'm no villain, either, like the Joker and the mob. I'm part of this city. I will not stand to be caught between the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Gotham was spiraling down from political corruption, moral ambiguity, and inefficient vigilantes. It was all destructive.

I put my head in my hands, feeling myself grow closer to an epiphany. Visions of movies, news shows, the exploding Town Hall, blurred in my mind's eye. Butterflies, dancing nymphs, and Chelsea grins.

Where was the balance? Where was the pure Chaos? With every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The Joker was the equal reaction, clearly. What happened to the opposite? Was it the Batman? No. He wasn't creating anything either. But who is? Who _would_? With the mob infiltrating every corner of the justice and legal system, and with the Joker back to bully every citizen of Gotham by his 'mere presence', no one knew what to do. It seemed like there was nothing to be done but ride out the long fall into the abyss.

My head rose, and I stared blankly at the television screen.

Something rises from the ashes. Something always rises from the ashes.

There must be a balance.

I rushed to my phone in the kitchen and dialed Jan.

"Hey? Yeah, it's Stella. Do me the favor and tell Kruss that I'm not going to work tomorrow? Thanks. No, I'll talk to you about it later. Bye."

I walked over to my computer, pressing back any reserves I had before. I sat down and opened the Internet.

No more discussions. The Joker wasn't the only one who was good at hacking, and I knew a few of them.

It was time to create some Chaos. Introduce a little Anarchy.

It was about damn time to bring Gotham back from the ashes.

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**Author's Note: **Couldn't help the 'Wanna play a game?' and 'Introduce a little Anarchy' lines.

I've got a soundtrack and a picture of Stella up on my profile. It's simply my own perception of her physically, and I couldn't find anything original on deviantart .com. I made a point of not describing her fully in the actual story so you guys can see her as you wish while you read.


	3. You've Changed Things

**Author's Note: **So here it is, back due to popular demand. I hope you enjoy. I finally watched my beautiful DVD copy of Dark Knight, and I'm ready to roll. This chapter is from the Joker's perspective, and a little shorter than the last. I've decided to make a few slight adjustments to his way of speaking and his mannerisms, as I've watched Dark Knight about three times since Christmas (Hee!) and I'd like to keep more true to the character.

**Reviewers: **

BeckoningDisaster – Need to brush up on my humor, in my opinion, but I'm glad you like it!

Solipsism – Avid readers, that's exactly what I need. I need to interest more people, though. XD Thanks for reviewing!

Almost Funny – It's vacation. I don't have much else to do except this. I have no life. XD Thanks for reviewing!

Take a Guess – Am I supposed to know who this is? Or is your s/n just something clever? Haha. I certainly hope I can keep your attention, regardless!

Carve-My-Solitude – Thanks! I know what you mean, there is an abundance of Joker OC-kidnap stories. What can I say? I just hope I'm somewhat original.

Forever Jinx – Polar opposites, that's what I'm going for!

**Disclaimer: **Hey, look! No movie references! Just Dark Knight/Batman, but that's a given. I took a lot of liberty looking into Wiki pages about the Batman universe, so some of the characters in the next few chapters that may be OC's to you might actually be part of the Gotham universe. Oh, and I don't own it.

The Chaos Theory

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Okay, I've been inside a jail cell more than a few times in my life. It's…incredibly boring. I guess I could start a fight here or there just to break the monotony, but that usually results in me staying here longer. Oh, maybe if I was in the Major Crimes Unit again. _That _was fun. County jails just don't have the same energy, that palpable taste of corruption.

Nope. Here I am in mass holding cell, bored out of my mind, and not even in the company of some fine Gotham low-lives. I couldn't even remember why exactly it was that I ended up in here, in a backwash town at least fifty miles from Gotham. Larceny maybe? It didn't matter, really. I just wanted to get the hell out. When the hell was Harley going to get me out, anyway? I had things to do, people to see. Charges don't set themselves, you know.

Busy, busy, busy.

I huffed in soft frustration. The worst thing about incarceration was that there was nothing to _do_ here. There was just sitting and watching punks pumped up on acid pass by the bars. It was maddening. Though, truly, I doubted much more madness would really affect me.

An argument rose between some of the inmates on the far corner. One of the antagonists looked like he was patterned in gang tattoos. From what snippets of conversation I could catch from the nearly intelligible shouting, I guessed the other guy was from a rival gang. Obviously some rookie cop tossed them in here together without checking their memberships.

Some of the guards noticed this wasn't the average argument, and that it was boiling into a fight. He and a few others drew their guns from their holsters and started banging them on the bars, shouting for them to break it up and get against the wall. A big black one and a Hispanic entered the cell and handcuffed each of the two offenders and took them out. One of the senior officers threatened punishments for more troublemakers. The rest of the guys quieted down now that there wasn't an impending conflict.

I yawned.

Eventually the white shirts opened the cells and we were escorted outside to this barren courtyard. On the left ran a high chain-link fence to separate the women from our side of the 'recreational area'. They were being shuffled outside as well. A hand shoved roughly against my shoulder, and I pursed my lips and sucked on the insides of my cheeks, feeling the raised unevenness of my scars there.

Luckily I had been caught without my paint, and none of these small town cops recognized me from the news. Although maybe it would be entertaining to be tossed over into Gordon's company again. Still, I acted the way they expected from a petty offender. I just waited.

I walked to a spot against the fence and sat down. I thrummed my fingers on the ground, watching—disinterested—as the other inmates huddled in miniscule groups or walked along the perimeter of the enclosure like tigers in a zoo.

The serrated corners of my mouth pulled up at the idea of a group of hungry cats being set loose in a prison enclosure. But it vanished when a vaguely familiar voice pierced through my boredom.

"I have a theory."

"You were always pretty good with theories."

"You were a small time actor." I slowly looked up, brow raised in faux interest. "Independent film, community theatre, that kind of thing. Your mother always had such high expectations for you. She enrolled you in every dance, music, and acting class she could afford to give you. You were a prodigy, and it became your obsession. You were always pushing yourself, always trying to find new ways to work your art. You found method acting to be the best. You would lose yourself in the characters.

"Finally you found your potential big break. A mediocre film company was having an open audition for a major roll in their new horror film they were producing. It wasn't a blockbuster by any means. The character was the villain that chased down half-naked sorority chicks with a kitchen knife. But it was your first step in the right direction.

"You enter the audition room, desperate to be the best they have ever seen. They request you to do a cold reading of a scene of the villain's transformation into a psychopathic murderer. You do it perfectly, but the casting director doesn't look phased by your performance. You have a callback, regardless. You're paired with a woman standing in as the leading lady, and you throw yourself into the character. You see the spark of interest and it feeds your fury. In the passion of the scene, you pull out your pocketknife—that old one you always carry; probably inherited from family—and you carve your face to represent the true madness of the character.

"Of course, the casting directors are horrified. But it didn't matter. You know the truth. You're the incarnate. You've reached perfection. You _know_ you are_ perfect_ for the role. Now you really see it. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. And you…you are the villain."

Pause.

"Wow. You should write a book," I told her with a pitying smile. A sour look crossed her face. Did she really prepare that whole speech? How funny. "Listen…really, that was bad. Too fantastic. You need a sense of reality to pull your audience in. Though the method actor theory is a good one, you're just not one to deliver it."

Stella looked the same as she did when I left her at that subway; disheveled, uncomfortable, and stubborn. When was that? A year ago? She was standing, leaning against the fence above me, her arms crossed above her head. She was looking down at me with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"So it _was_ you who tried to hack into Gordon's mainframe," I said. She winced. "How long have you been here, a week?"

"Five days," she replied. "I saw you come in last night." So that's how she was able to formulate that silly story. "I'm to be transferred to MCU tomorrow."

"Hmm."

"Out of curiosity, how did _you _get out of the Major Crime Unit?" she asked.

"Why? Thinking about…_busting out_? You're _not_," I growled. I stood up to face her and leaned on the fence. She pushed off. I looked towards the guards scattered around my side of the courtyard. One was watching me, but he didn't look concerned yet. I inclined my head toward Stella. I licked my lips thoughtfully. "You know what your problem is? You're either afraid of getting caught…or you think you're invincible. Do you _know_ how many small-timers got a kick out of me getting out of Arkham and were so inspired as to think 'well, golly, we can do it too'?"

"Yeah. I saw some articles about Joker copycats. They were comparing it to the Citizens for Batman incidents." She paused. "I'm not trying to be your copycat."

"Oh, of _course_ not," I placated. She wasn't convinced in my sincerity. I shifted my position slightly. "You are trying to implement a new world order defined by Creative Chaos! Oh goody, nymph-y. So…" I passed a tongue over my lips and leaned towards her. "What _have_ you been doing to spread your good cheer?"

"Hacking into the Commissioner's computer was a start. I was just testing my skills—"

"So you can begin your plans?" I hissed lazily. "Obviously you still don't have the mindset to pursue this. You have plans. And bad ones at that." I motioned to her orange jumpsuit pointedly.

"_You_ have plans. They've failed. What about that business with the ferries last year? That was you, right? You want to watch Gotham to vanish into madness, and you help push it along. Is that not part of the 'plan'?"

"'A little madness, now and then, is relished by the wisest men'," I said. "I think _goals_ are much more different than _plans_. You see, I'm not planning anything. I'm just _doing_ things that will further my _goals_. I don't care how it's done."

"So…why aren't you in Gotham, pursuing your goals?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Why aren't _you_ in Gotham, pursuing your plans? Hmm?" I asked. She looked away. I grinned slightly. "Well, I've been kind of busy, see. And I like a little variety in my…activities. You know, people are_ so_ predictable. When it came out that I escaped from Gotham, it was like a fox in the hen house!" I smacked my lips in satisfaction. "The police were scrambling over themselves trying to find me. Got to play with the Bat a few times, too. As if he had anything better to do. And you know what? All that time…the only thing_ I_ blew up was Town Hall!"

I giggled under my breath, shaking my head. I saw her stiffen in the memory, as expected. "Well, eventually I was set off to the side. Batman got a few new playmates; some crazy with a penchant for mind games and waddling gangster in black and white. So I decided to take a sabbatical." I shrugged.

"What is it about Gotham that attracts the nuts?" I heard her mutter.

"Animal magnetism."

She glanced at me with contempt. Just then the whistle blew. Some guards began shouting orders to file back into the blocks.

"Have fun in here," I said lightly, moving away.

"You're getting bail, aren't you?" she called after me.

"Funnily enough, I'm only in here for a misdemeanor. You know, nothing major. Like trying to erase the files from the Commissioner's computer." I winked at her and continued to follow the rest of the prisoners back into the prison. I took one more glance of Stella, and saw her run her tongue along the inside of her cheek and her bottom lip, a deeply thoughtful look on her face as she stared directly at me.

Hmm.

The next day I was able to get time to call Quinn.

"J! Are you doing alright over there?" was the first thing out of her mouth. Sometimes her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. My lips curled over my teeth in a grimace.

"Yeah, I'm fine. How's my status?"

Why did I keep her around, again?

"I've got it covered; paid the bail and set up your court date under a _Joseph Kerr_. You'll be out by tomorrow morning." Her voice was smug.

Alright, she's sufficient. And ruthless. And she had some of that animal magnetism.

"Good. Now, I want you to start digging for some of our friends in the computer business. Oh, and pack up."

"We're going back?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Oh yes. Vacation's over, toots." I hung up, sucking in my lower lip and smiled.

The nymph had the right idea. She just didn't have the right motive, or the right tools.

With all of the manic criminals Commissioner Gordon had to deal with, he had to be depending on a_ lot_ of organization. After little miss anarchy's attempt to peek at the files, he must have upped the security. But what's a game without a little challenge? With all the criminals free of solid incrimination, they'll leak back onto the streets and the Commissioner will be pulling his hair out with all the pressure the public will put on him for this little slip up. It will be so _fun_.

I snickered with eagerness at the thought. The high-pitched sound turned a few heads. I ignored them and allowed myself to be led back to my cell.

Ah, yes. And Stella will have a get-out-of-jail-free card. You know, she has potential. She's just wrapped up in this fool sense of self-righteousness. She just needs a little…_push_.

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"Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum." The door creaked open. "_Took_ you long enough. Have a run-in with the Bat?"

"Actually, no. Something a little less decadent…traffic. Perhaps we should have done this later, if you were so concerned with timing. Thirty million people trying to get home at the same time provides certain obstacles." The squat man tossed his umbrella to one of my lackeys and his top hat to another. "Shall we get started?" He waddled over to the table where I was lounging on two legs of my chair. I leaned forward with a _thunk_ as he settled himself.

"From one professional to another, I think you need to understand that I don't appreciate you taking advantage of the…information my men _accidentally_ give out. I'm getting quite put out, actually, when the cops up-end my escapades." I licked my lip and leaned closer, squinting at him in exasperation. "Did you know I had to uproot everything and move twice because of what you leaked to them? Not only that, but I had to silence some of my best just because they couldn't keep their mouth shut when they drink a little too much. And it's _so hard_ to find good help these days."

"I just run a nightclub, Joker," he said with an innocent grin. "It's not my fault some of your people talked out of line. Someone's bound to overhear, you know, not just me. Regardless, I have a deal for you that might patch up this little…misunderstanding."

"Mmm hmm?"

"Some man by the name of The Squid is attempting to steal some documents from Wayne Enterprises. My sources tell me he is the new Chinese crime boss, and this excursion is somehow related to Lau Security Investments; and indirectly related to you."

"And you think this will interest me…how?" God, what a honker! Wait, did it just twitch? I giggled. Mr. Penguin took it as disbelief in his convictions.

"The Chinese have somewhat of a grudge against you after you roasted Mr. Lau. I'm led to believe that they are using whatever information they receive against you _and_ Wayne Enterprises. I would like to think you would appreciate a heads-up."

"So, uh, how is this all going to benefit _you_?"

"Of course, I'll be willing to look the other way when your people walk in to my club…_if _you can help with foiling their plans, whatever they are. Any of this foreign interference with Wayne Enterprises will mean bad news for all us small business owners."

"And you would rather me _not_ kill you, hmm?" I asked, casually leaning back, lifting the two front legs of the chair.

"That would be nice," he replied, just as indifferently. I sucked in my cheeks, making a show of thinking it over.

"Oh, all right. But only because you asked _so_ sweetly," I told him. "Give me some more _useful_ specifics about this little escapade and I'll see our deal done."

"Sounds reasonable." He stood up and extended a hand. I smiled and didn't take it. He sniffed and dropped it. He headed towards the door. Grumpy and Smiles stepped forward with his accessories. "It's been a pleasure," he said, taking his hat and machine-gun umbrella with a curt bow.

"Jolly."

He went out the door. I made a face.

Ugh. These mob types were annoying. And what was _with_ all these animal people?

I barked at my men to leave the apartment. I wanted to relax. I turned on the television to the GCN to find something entertaining. I sat up straighter when I saw Gotham's own anarchic nymph on the screen.

"…is not taking comments regarding her actions. It is only known that she pulled a gun on a secretary to enter restricted area of the company's office building. It's rumored that two others were with her, but escaped before the authorities arrived. She has been apprehended and is to be taken into custody to the Major Crimes Unit."

A video of her being handcuffed—dated this afternoon—and led to a police cab appeared on the screen with the title 'Police Foils Woman's Attempt to Break into Wayne Enterprises' running underneath. She was struggling against the hold the two officers had on her. From the look in her eyes, it was out of revulsion. Then I remembered our small encounters. She didn't care if I got up in her face. I saw that same instinct to run only when I touched her, or intended to touch her. She had the same look as she looked at the hands grasping her arms now. Hmm.

"It should be noted that after the disastrous MCU hack-job two months ago, any records of past criminal activities would have disappeared. In other news, the Gotham's very own _Haly's Circus_ returns along with 'The Flying Graysons'…"

I switched off the TV and took out my cell. It was a little plastic pay-as-you-go thing that I switched as often as I did my thugs.

I don't know if I believed in coincidences, but with the beaky man's warning and the sheer_ timing_…I wanted to know what exactly my little Stella was doing. She wasn't one for just doing things on a whim. She was planning something.

"Hey, Smiles," I drawled, dampening my lips and kicking my legs up onto the table. "I want you to do a little snooping for me. I want you to find anything you can about a Miss Stella Rosario. Yes, Rosario like the actress. See what you can find about any connections to the Chinese mob." Hanging up, I looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

"I've created a monster," I told myself. I laughed.

After persuading Harley to stay at the apartment and to continue keeping tabs on our own little excursions, I left the next morning to pay a visit to York's Publishing Co.

I was lucky that the police had not, as of yet, taken a picture of me without my paint. It was_ so_ inconvenient to worry about minor things like people recognizing me on the street when I'm out getting cereal.

I was able to get a cab to the financial district. Paying the guy off, I stepped onto the curb, scanning the area before I briskly walked to the thick glass doors to the office building.

"Hello."

The woman at the desk looked up. I coughed and made my voice smoother, more friendly. I glanced at the name plate in front of her.

"Hi…Jan? I'm looking for Stella Rosario. She, uh, she said she would talk to me about my manuscript today. I'm afraid I've lost her number—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but Stella doesn't work here anymore," she replied, her jaw tightening. Her eyes flicked to my mouth, but only for a moment. I stifled a grin.

"Really? May I ask why?"

"She was recently…let go after a few_ legal_ problems she ran into. I think she works in the Narrows now."

"Hmm. Well, _thank_ you," I muttered, spinning on my heel to turn and leave.

"Sir, your manuscript would have been switched to another—"

"I call later."

So. Stella's adventures got her fired. Not much of a surprise. She was all too sloppy. But what was she doing now, with all this free time?

My phone rang.

"Yeah?" I asked, taking a walk down the sidewalk.

"Mr. J? It's Greg."

"Who?"

A sigh. "Smiles."

"Ah, yes. Find anything?"

"No, sir. Are you sure you gave me the right name? I-I looked all over, birth certificates, hospital records, mob dealings…either Stella Rosario doesn't exist, or she erased every bit of evidence that she does."

"She's learning," I muttered to myself dryly. "Keep looking. And don't call me until you have something useful." I hit the red button and threw the cell in the nearest trash can.

Well, whatever Stella is doing will likely float up some time. For now, I had other things to worry about. First…a new phone.

The next few weeks were quiet. Big Bird sent detailed information about the Squid and his plan to infiltrate Wayne Enterprises. It looked like the hit would take place on Labor Day. He gave me a few names and faces, so I got my boys to hang out around the Penguin's nightclub and to follow them. Harley was busy tracking down the high-level Chinese mob, and I…

I just went out and planted my sweet chaos under everyone's noses.

It was a week before Labor Day. My team had tabs on just about all of the Chinese players, except the Squid himself. We didn't even have a full name. He was a slippery fellow, blowing ink in our faces. Haha.

I was taking a nap with Harley when the phone rang. I had half a mind to smash it against the wall, but I picked up, deciding to later make nice with whoever was on the other line. Preferably with a knife.

"What?" I snapped, my eyes still closed.

"Uh…hi. It's Smiles. I've been digging for any information on that woman Stella you wanted…"

I groaned. He was _still_ doing that? Oh, right. His file said severe OCD.

"…found her through the mob."

I opened my eyes and I sat up on an elbow.

"What did you find exactly?" I asked lightly. I pushed Harley's leg, which had been flung over my waist, off of me. She muttered something and I felt her wriggle against my back. I swiftly got out of the bed and headed towards the kitchen.

"It was difficult without any written or electronic files. She's been going only by Stella. But I found that she works in a bookstore owned by the Falcones in the Narrows. I've got her address too…"

Rethinking slitting Smiles's throat, I wrote down the apartment he gave me.

"Anything that connects her to the Chinese?"

"Not that I found."

"Hmm." I hung up, and walked into the bedroom to grab my coat off of the floor. "I'll be back in a bit, Harls. Got some, uh, business to attend to."

"Need someone to go with you?" she asked, looking discontent that I had left the bed.

"Ah, no."

Ugh. All these parts we have to play.

The ride through the Narrows in twilight was daunting. A few road blocks still remained from Fright Night nearly two years ago, and cars were packed like sardines along both sides of the street.

I reached the apartment building. It was a rotting skeleton, like most of the Narrows. No one stopped me as I headed up the stairwell. When I got to the fifth floor, I turned left to find 137A. I found it at the end of the dank hallway. Shrieking children, football on the television, moaning couples; all were drowned by the sound of a high-pitched, intelligible singing.

Her door wasn't locked.

It was well-kept, despite the water stains on the ceiling and the peeling floral wallpaper in the kitchen. The dishes were piled neatly beside the sink and there wasn't the smell of decomposing garbage that permeated most of the residences in the Narrows. Instead there was something else, a smoky, pungent scent. I looked into the tiny living room. Stella was sitting on the small, pale loveseat, the only furniture in sight other than the rickety metal stand supporting a small television and a low wooden coffee table in front of her. Her stance was tense, and her face was hidden in her hands, still humming that strange tune. As I drew closer, I recognized the smell.

"New habit?" I said softly, picking up the nearly empty plastic packet of mushrooms. She jolted, and looked up. I cocked my head to the side in curiosity. Her face was covered in gold paint, with blue lips. The effect was like that of a Venetian mask. Her eyes were wide as she stared at me. For once, her fear was severe and clear on her face. But it wasn't fear of me, I realized with a smile. She was tripping.

"I, uh, I didn't hear you come in. You just…appeared," she stammered, standing cautiously. She paused, her eyes flicking wildly to me, and then to the door, and then back to me. I could see her trying to decide if I was a hallucination. "If you really want to know, I started after I got out of MCU. I got caught for possession a week ago. They let me go when they couldn't find my files…" Her voice trailed off as she lost concentration. Then she took a sharp breath, and her face hardened. "Why are you here?"

Oh, this will be much easier with her this incapacitated. I was expecting to have to drug her myself to get information out of her. Funny world we live in.

"Oh, just decided to drop by and see how you were doing," I explained casually, placing the packet back down on the table. I leaned towards her. "_What_ you were doing." She took a step back, her breath catching. I've taken drugs and tripped before. I had to be careful. Too much menace and she'll see me as a monster from her personal nightmares. There would be no talking to her then.

"Working. I've just been working. What do you want from me? Now's not a good time." Her words were carefully articulated. Her golden face was contorted into obvious discomfort.

"Don't get uptight, Stella. Sit down. Relax," I purred sweetly, motioning to the couch. Her expression changed into distrust, but she sat back down. I sat on the coffee table, making sure I was a safe distance from her. "So, how're your plans for anarchy doing?"

"They're doing," she said, a smirk flitting briefly onto her face. I put a matching conspiratorial grin on my face.

"Oh? Whatcha planning? Anything really clever?" I wheedled, acting the part of confidante, hoping she'll take the bait. Wrong move. She scowled.

"None of your business," she said flatly. She glanced off to the side for a moment, and then looked back at me with a haughty expression. "I've been learning to kick box, you know. I know how to throw a punch now." She paused and eyed me with the intensity of those who are high, like she was thoroughly analyzing me. "You can never keep…still. You know, I think I'm rethinking that method actor story. It fits too well to the way you act around different people. It's like…you read them and know _exactly_ how to behave to get the right reactions."

"That's nice. Now, what are you planning, my sweet little nymph?"

"I'm not telling you anything," she hissed, drawing her legs to her chest. "I have friends helping me now, and soon the whole city will want to help."

I pushed aside the urge to growl at her. Instead, I got up and went to her laptop that was sitting on the round table in the kitchen. There was no use talking to her now. I would have to do this myself. She probably had something on her computer that could point to a connection with the Squid's organization…

I hardly had time to boot up the screen when I saw Stella come at me, reaching for my throat. I jumped out of the chair swiftly, avoiding her grasp. I went for my knife, but I was surprised to find, two well-placed kicks and an uppercut later, I was splayed on my back on her laminated floor, and Stella had awkwardly managed to wrestle the knife from my hand. She straightened and stood defensively in front of her computer, the wild look of the drugged in her golden face, her blue lips pulled over her teeth in a snarl.

I began laughing, a giggle leading to a loud chuckle, which ended in a howl of mirth. She was blinking erratically at each new peal of laughter, recoiling like they were a slap to her face.

"You…you really take my words to heart, don't you?" I managed to spit out, sitting up. She was frozen with my knife in her right hand pointed steadily at me. She looked like a mouse that suddenly found that she finally had the upper hand over the cat, and she didn't know what to do with that power. The idea made me laugh harder.

"Get out," she demanded numbly. "My life isn't your business."

"It is when it interferes with _my_ business," I told her slyly, flicking my tongue over my lips. She didn't move, didn't betray anything on her face. I had to commend her self-control in such an inebriated state. Not many have that talent. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving." I stood up, eyeing my knife in her hand. "Can I have that back, please?"

She made a face and tossed it towards the door. It slid under the door and into the hallway on the other side. I snickered and went to the door, opening it.

"Clever. But I've got to warn you, you may be able to protect your computer now, but I assure you…I have more experience hacking."

"Leave."

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," I placated. I paused to pick up my knife and stow it in my sleeve. I straightened and turned back to her. "But first…what is _with_ the face paint? Still not a copycat? Hmm?"

"I could ask you the same thing about yours," she said. I shrugged.

She raised a hand to her face, her fingers raking lines through the gold paint. She looked at the paint on her fingertips, and then at my face with a tight smile as they curled into a fist at her chest.

"I like it."

"Mmm hmm."

I turned to exit and started down the hallway.

"Diony—" She coughed. "Joker?" I turned around with a sigh. She was standing just outside her doorway, one hand on the doorknob, strumming her fingers on it in slight agitation.

"Mmm hmm?"

"What is your opinion on…codenames?"

"You've got to lose your first name first, nymph-y," I chastised. She stared at me for a moment, and then slowly retreated back into her apartment. I smacked my lips in amusement and skipped down the stairwell.

Oh yes, there was something in her. This was just the tip of the iceberg. I underestimated her. Stella had a few surprises in her yet.

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**Author's Note:** Another question to bounce off of you guys. _Should_ Stella have a codename (for lack of a better word)? I'm tossing a few simple titles around, but I'd like to get your take on the idea.


	4. Ninjas, Clowns, and Bats

**Author's Note**: Starts with Joker POV, has a small Stella POV in the middle, then the rest is Joker. Personally, I like writing Joker. Which do you prefer?

**Reviewers: **

Alice's Restaurant – First off, great review. I can see a debate come off of it. Haha. Look, irony…Anyway, I agree that Stella has a flawed philosophy. I'll admit, at first I thought it would work when I first devised the plotline. But I understand if I want to get it where I want it to go, I'm going to have to tweak a few things. She'll work on it over the next few chapters. She's actually confronting it in this one. But be prepared for a few compromises and setbacks along the way.

Forever Jinx – Sorry, but she isn't the Squid. If she was, I wouldn't have to ask for an opinion on a codename, would I? (wink) You can Wiki 'Batman Villains' of you want to find a little more of my inspiration

Lukeyg – Another nice, long review. It's like a drug to me…Moving on. Don't worry, Batman will be thrown in sooner than you think. What do you think Bruce will do when he finds that Wayne Enterprises is going to be ransacked?

**Disclaimer: **I'm not Nolan or part of DC comics, so I don't own the rights to sell this. I can just post it here. On Fanfiction. Whoopee. And I don't own _A Streetcar Named Desire. _C'mon…I had to do it_ once_!

The Chaos Theory

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"I don't care if there are twenty _ninjas_ guarding the place. Take him out." Sigh. Click. "People these days. The more you pay them, the lazier they get, right?" Pause. "Hun? Whatcha doin'?"

_Trying to ignore you_.

"I'm trying to find the last of the octopus's operatives. You call everyone?" I asked, looking up from the laptop.

"Yeah. Everything's set," Harley said, spinning the wheel casually to mount the curb heading into an alley. "We just need to get to there before the live ones do. How many do you think this guy hired?"

"It's Labor Day. They all have the day off, don't they?" I muttered, scanning the info I just received. "Harley, babe. Run by the Narrows for a second. I think I've got another."

"We don't have much time, J…" She quickly shut up when she caught the look on my face.

We reached her apartment building about twenty minutes before the time we needed to be in the financial district.

"Stay in the car," I ordered, jumping out.

"Can't—?"

"Thanks, you're a doll."

I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do when I reached her floor. Killing her was the obvious choice. She could hardly be kept loose while I'm trying to work; she's much too inexperienced. I had guessed she was dealing with the mob to get her plans rolling. I just needed someone to finally track her connection to them. Luckily I got the proof before the heist.

But it would be such a waste. So much potential…

Ah, we'll see. I haven't caught her yet.

Skipping two stairs at a time, I reached her apartment humming along the way. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. I rolled my eyes. Things could never be that easy twice. I backed up and threw myself at the door, kicking it right above the doorknob. It gave in smoothly.

"Hey, Stella! Hey, _Stella_!" I called, giggling. There was no answer. I scanned the kitchen and the living room. I realized it was empty. Not just of the nymph, but of all the furniture and appliances. "Damn."

She had moved. That clever woman. I didn't even think of that. She knew that I knew where she lived, and she probably guessed I was on to her about her cooperation with the Chinese. Growling obscenities, I left the apartment. She was probably already on her way to Wayne Enterprises. I ran down the stairs, hopping over the railings at the end.

"Did you…?" Harley asked as soon as she saw me barrel out of the building.

"He was gone before we got here. Let's go. Go, go, go!" Quinn jumped at my demand and threw the van into drive. We bulldozed through the noon traffic. We were going to get around the back and cover the bottom and top floors…providing that the Chinese—and Stella—weren't there before we arrived.

"How many have called back in so far?"

"All but one. I guess he got deterred by the ninjas," she told me with a grin. It faltered when I didn't return it. "The rest are on their way to the center of the city."

Wayne Enterprises was the phallus of Gotham City. It was the only reason Gotham still stood. Financially, at least. When the prodigal prince finally returned, some thought, with his outrageous lifestyle, that he would throw the city back into a depression. But there it stood in all its glory. I sighed.

I'm going to have to do something about that someday.

After disabling a few security guards 'round back, Harley parked the van.

"Everyone already set?" I muttered into the van's walkie-talkie. Once a scattered affirmatives were made, Harley and I unloaded the van. We had two motorcycles, two shotguns, and one blueprint of Wayne Enterprises.

"Let's storm the castle," I announced into my personal walkie-talkie. We mounted the bikes and kicked them to life.

I just love making an entrance. Especially one that includes shattering glass and gunshots.

My clown-faced thugs swarmed onto the first floor along with Harl and me. As they shouted over the screaming for everyone to get on the ground, I dropped the bike and walked over to the far wall. I crouched in front of a cowering secretary or some woman.

"Hi. I was wondering where y'all keep your files. You have an archive perhaps?" She didn't answer, just hid her face in her hands. "Hey, I'm talking to you." I grab the bundle of hair she had tied up with a scrunchie and forcefully pulled her head up and back. Tears were smudging thick layer of mascara she had applied on her lashes. "Shh, now…don't be afraid. I just want you to answer my question." I pretended to absentmindedly stroke the butt of my gun with one hand. Her mouth quivered for a moment, and then she pointed to the elevator.

"B-basement. You've got to…" Her voice broke, and her face was twitching from her effort to keep from screaming, or sobbing. And I was asking such a simple question.

"Yes?" I crooned pleasantly.

"You've got to press 25052 before you hit the basement button…please don't hurt me, I-I have two kids I've got to take care of. Please don't—"

I clicked my tongue sympathetically and handed her a grenade, slipping out the pin in the process. I let go of her hair and patted her on the head.

"Never let go, Rose," I told her before standing up and letting out a wild peal of laughter. Then I motioned for Tragedy and Comedy to follow me to the elevator. But just before I pressed the button with the 'down' arrow, the elevator _ping_ed and the doors slid open. I hardly had a moment to grin with pleasant surprise with a thick, black hand shot out and sent me staggering.

"Hoo hoo! Look who it is! I guess you took care of the guys on the roof then?" I chuckled, scrambling to my feet. The Batman snarled and lunged. I was prepared this time, though, and I danced out of the way. I snatched up my shotgun and cocked it, leveling it at one of the guards that was lying on the ground, his hands covering his head. Bats froze, one hand raised at me. "Ah, ah, ah, Batsy. I don't think you fully understand the situation here."

"What's there to understand?" he barked. "You're breaking into one of the most important corporations in Gotham. I'm surprised you didn't pull this sooner."

I sighed dramatically.

"I suppose a little _birdie_ told you there was going to be a break in on Labor Day, hmm? I guess that birdie wanted you to think I was a part of it." I muttered with a tortured sigh. "Despite what it looks like, I'm the _counter_-break in." He looked pointedly over my shoulder. I glanced at the shattered glass. "Yeah. That…Okay, listen. The guys you want are part of the Chinese mob. Penguino wanted me to foil their little plan so that he doesn't go out of business. And since the Chinese didn't really like how I disposed of Lau for you…" I shrugged. "Win-win situation."

"You're telling me…you're trying to _stop_ a heist?"

"Mmm hmm."

He looked flabbergasted. I loved this.

"And you want to_ help_ me?"

"Ooh, goody, you got it! A gold star for you."

"I don't trust you."

"I don't need you to. Just let my guys get down to the archives…"

"Not necessary. It's a fortress down there. No one can get in without proper authorization."

"I wouldn't bet on that," I said lightly, giving him a patronizing look. "I'm inclined to believe one of our Chinese checkers is a talented hacker. The security system is probably down already. You would_ think_ that busting through a few glass doors would set off a few alarms…" I cocked my head to the side, as if trying to listen to something. "Weird. Do _you_ hear anything? I'm sure your ears are better than mine—" Then I found myself hovering above the floor, slammed against the wall with the Bat's arm pinned on my throat. Déjà vu, anyone?

"What are you up to, Joker?" he snapped. Suddenly, gunshots rang out from somewhere in the building. Batman looked accusingly at me.

"Not it," I protested, smiling.

"J, it's one o'clock," Harley informed me.

"Right. Hope you have back-up, Bats," I told him. Grunting in exasperation, the Batman took one more look at me and then towards the sounds of shouting and gunfire. He threw me down and dashed down the hallway, his cape whipping behind him. It was then that I heard the faint sounds of sirens.

I looked at my group, who were anxiously waiting for my next order.

"Looks like our work was done here before we started, boys. Pack up, move out."

Harley walked over to me with my bike.

"Well…that was anti-climatic," she commented, handing it over.

"You win some, you lose some," I said. "And sometimes you just gotta let things go."

"Do you think _they'll _win some?"

"Oh, I'm fairly sure they will. Their hacker's a slippery one."

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"That wasn't too bad," I murmured, shuffling through disks and folders of paper in the duffle bag.

"Would have been easier if that Joker-man wasn't _killing off_ all of my operatives," the Squid said, scowling.

"I told you he had been tracking me," I reminded him. "It would be common sense to think that he had been keeping tabs on the rest of your men. You should have warned them."

"Don't start, Nymph," the driver—I think his name was Tank—told me, his accent skimming over a few words. "You were the one who turned the corner that got us face to face with the Bat Man."

"We managed, didn't we?" I replied, mostly to myself. The Batman had given me a good whack in the ribs. They were already bruising, and I was trying to keep my breathing shallow.

The Chinese were a stoic bunch. Even when our team was cut to a forth of what it was supposed to be the morning of our mission, no one was phased. A few jobs were shifted around and we changed our time to strike earlier. It was easier because of the fewer people we had to keep track of.

From what I gathered—even as their gringo hacker—the Squid was going to sift through these files to find any evidence that would prove that the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Lucius Fox, had helped the Batman capture Mr. Lau last year. The Chinese had yet to find anything over at LSI Holdings.

They had also gotten information from the Penguin about the Joker that proved to be useful. They were to deal with him and the international dispute that would erupt when they hand the information to the Chinese government.

Me? I would get a look at the files that would help me shut down the corporation that owned more than half of Gotham. What we stole contained a lot; passwords, blueprints, government contracts. I would deal with bringing the corporation to its knees.

I was dropped off at my apartment, along with the specified materials I asked for. I wanted to get to work immediately. They also gave back my laptop, which they asked to tinker with and update the security. I silently decided to check it over before I used it as I took it with a good-bye.

I still lived in the Narrows. But after that suspicious encounter with the Joker at my last apartment, I didn't want to take any chances. I cut off my lease, quit my job at the bookstore, erased my metaphorical footprints, and got a new laptop courtesy of the Zhang crime family.

The apartment I lived in now was in worse shape than my last because my previous landlord asked for more money to pay off my lease because I left on such sort notice. But it was the one housing complex I could find that had no connections with any of the mobs of Gotham. I guessed that is how the Joker found me in the first place. So far he hasn't ratted me out.

I settled in my bedroom and sat my laptop onto my lap and turned it on. As soon as it started up, I went through the programs and encryptions that the Squid's computer man set up on it. I found a few gaps that looked blaringly obvious and filled them in myself. One of the programs could be manipulated from whoever set it up, even from another computer. I deleted that one. I would send it over to one of my own men later to look over it more thoroughly.

_For now I should be okay,_ I thought as I settled in and began to browse through the paper files from Wayne Enterprises. Specifically, I was looking to target the corruption within the business powerhouse. Weeding out such a disgustingly monopolizing company would certainly not hurt Gotham, especially when it's to further the interests of the individual citizens.

When I couldn't find anything of notice among the various paper files, I moved on to the disks. Some needed passwords, but I had those on hand already.

My brows furrowed when all I could find were seemingly legit dealings with international companies and charities. Some were anonymous donations and blatantly accurate descriptions of their trust fund.

I wasn't too worried, though. There had to be a hidden—illegal—source of all this revenue. I mean, look at Bruce Wayne! The playboy of the year for nearly two years in a row. He didn't look the least bit concerned about the way his company works. He just cared about his new hotrod, or the glittering string of diamonds he can drape on his newest plastic bunny.

Days past. I scrounged some security clearances from the Squid in my sudden obsession to find _something_ wrong with Wayne Enterprises. A small voice (sounding oddly like the Joker) appeared at my desperate attempts to prove myself right. It hissed that I was being silly. That this whole quest was stupid.

I took more drugs than usual one night and couldn't help but start screaming when I saw bats crawling up out of the walls. No one was there to distract me from my subconscious bringing up my guilt, questioning my motives. I was trapped inside my own mind, and it was spewing black monsters and strangling my sanity.

I had to admit; even the Joker would have been welcome that night. I couldn't control myself. I'd close my eyes to block out my hallucinations and then open them again, thinking that I might never be able to open them again. I would find myself grasping onto my cheap Browning handgun, pointing it at the blank television, at the reflection of myself inside it. I was surprise no one came when I fired a shot into the wall, at a grinning little bat.

And then, of course, I woke up the next morning, afraid I was dead.

Because the Joker was standing over me, grinning like Jack Skellington, flanked by three clown-faced thugs.

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She blinked at me once and sat up.

"I thought I told you to check yourself into rehab!" I scolded, catching a whiff of…salvia, I think.

Once she was able to take in the situation, she scrambled up off of the couch she had collapsed on and grabbed something from the pocket of her grey sweater. It was a gun, of course. I rolled my eyes.

"Nice to see you, too," I said.

"How'd you find me _this_ time?" she demanded in exasperation. "No one but the Chinese know I even _exist_!"

"I _told_ you I'm the better hacker," I said. "Oh, and never trust the foreigners. You're lucky I found you first."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, lowering the gun a smidgen.

"They were probably hoping you would get caught and be their scapegoat," I rambled casually, sitting on her couch. "You know, it's a good thing I got here before the police—or Batman—did. You'd be a _sorry_ piece of ass then."

A faint crash. Stella jolted, her eyes growing wide.

"Speaking of."

"How did they find me?"

"Like I said…don't trust the foreigners."

And just like that, the door broke in, revealing the masked crusader himself. My men backtracked, raising their various weapons. The Batman didn't have eyes for them. He didn't even have eyes for me. He was staring straight at Stella.

"The Nymph, am I right?" he growled at Stella. I looked at her with curiosity.

"_Nymph_?" I could have sworn I saw a shadow of a smirk pass her lips before she aimed her gun at the Bat.

"Hey, I'm just a minor minion," she protested.

"You weren't when you tried to break into Wayne Enterprises three weeks ago, and when you were jailed for attempting to erase the MCU mainframe. Where are the files?"

"Give the girl a break. She's only just learnin'," I said.

"I should have guessed you were in on this, Joker," he muttered before grabbing for Stella. She fired and missed, the bullet burrowing itself in her wall. The Batman took her arm and twisted the gun from her grasp. Stella took the hit and shifted to swing an elbow into his side. When he huffed and bent, she kicked up and the side of her foot connected with a loud_ thwack_ at the crook of where his mask met his suit. It might have brought down a weaker, less armored man, but, of course, it wasn't enough to bring down ol' Batsy. He retaliated by shooting out an arm and catching her from behind the knee, knocking her legs out from under her. She fell, her cheek glancing off of the coffee table.

I motioned for my guys to go at the Batman. When he was distracted, I quickly tugged Stella to her feet and ushered her to the window. I handed her a loop-ended cord that led to a harness around my waist once I threw the glass open.

"Jump," I told her. She looked at me in disbelief.

"_Are you_—?"

"Crazy? Nuts? Insane? All of the above, professor," I grumbled, pushing at her. "You'll be fine, promise."

"I was going to say joking. We are six stories up," she said, eyes wide with determination. "I am not going to jump

"Alright then. You can fall instead," I said, rapidly securing the cord to both of her wrists and then roughly pushing her out of the window. I had a good hold on it before she fell too far. Didn't want her shoulder get dislocated, did we? Just a healthy dose of fear.

"_You son of a bitch!_" she shrieked up at me as I leaned over the edge to look at her. Her legs scrabbled about uselessly, trying to reach the brick side of the building. I just grinned wildly at her and slowly lowered her down past the fifth, fourth, third, second floors.

"_Joker_."

I turned around and saw the Batman approaching me from across the room. Fast. Uh oh.

"Nymph, prepare yourself for a bit of a fall."

"Wha—AHH!"

The cord slipped out of my hands when he tackled me. I was able to kick him off, but he had me cornered in less than a second. Luckily, Comedy wasn't as unconscious as he looked, and he took his crowbar and swung it at Batman's head. I took the chance to dash out the door and into the old elevator. Hopefully it would be faster than a bat.

I found Nymph trying to stand against the wall of the apartment complex. She obviously sprained something from the look on her face. Great, now I had to drag her.

"The van's over here," I barked at her as I grabbed the arm on the side she was favoring. She had to hop like a pogo stick to keep up as I pulled her to the other side of the building. I jumped into the passenger side, yanking her up with me onto the bench seat. She yelped in pain, probably from her shoulder. I shouted at the driver to drive.

"But what about the rest—?"

I pulled my knife from my shirt pocket and smiled tightly at him. He was a smart one. He got the message.

Shifting so that Nymph was no longer half on my lap, I put my knife away and ran a hand through my hair. I looked at her. She was blank-faced and rubbing her left shoulder. She felt me staring and caught my gaze, waiting.

"You…" I started, my voice low with irritation. "Just can't help but screw up with this whole hiding thing, can't you?

"I'm…sorry?" she said dryly, brows rising. "I'll try harder next time? Maybe hang with the Italians instead?"

I sat and fumed. Maybe it would be easier just to kill her. Why didn't I just kill her?

"I guess you want me to tell you what I found with all of the files I helped steal," she said. My jaw tightened as I studied her.

"Not really. But, since you brought it up, whatcha find?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Her lips peeled back over her teeth in a grimace. "You can't trust anything these days."

"And this is interesting…how?"

"I looked in every nook and cranny!" she exclaimed. "Wayne Enterprises is the biggest company in Gotham, and there's not one piece of information that lends itself to point to any shady deals, overlooked corruption…_nothing_!"

I clicked my tongue against my teeth.

"Ah. Now I get it," I murmured, grinning slyly. "You wanted to _bring down the_ _corporation_. What a noble pursuit. Oh, but now you're questioning yourself. Is the world not as black and white and conquerable as you thought it was, nymph-y?" She winced. "Is that why you smoked yourself into oblivion last night?" Her head snapped up, her face stony.

"Didn't I tell you my life was none of your business?"

"You brought it up, Nymph," I replied smoothly. I paused. "So…why Nymph? Why not Eris, or Maenad…or Agent of the True Creative Chaos?" I snickered. "That'd be more your style."

"I thought it was simple enough to work," she shrugged. Then she smirked at me. "I'm used to you calling me that, in any case. I've never had a nickname before. Why not just choose that, right?"

"Hmm."

She hesitated, like she was going to say something more, but she just turned her head to look out the window. Then, "Where are we going?"

"Eager to start the cycle over again?" I said.

"What cycle?"

"I drop you off to live your life, you commit a few more petty crimes with a shaky moral basis, you get caught a few times, and then get out because either you don't legally exist, or I bail you out."

She glared at me.

"Are you talking about you stealing my hacking into the MCU idea: hence I walk free because I have no criminal record?"

"Don't forget that one time when I pushed you out a window so you weren't kidnapped by a bat."

She couldn't hold back a quiet snort of laughter.

"So are you taking me to your fortress, or are dumping my lifeless body into a Dumpster?" she asked.

"The latter _is_ more probably of the two," I replied truthfully. Her reaction was controlled. She just waited. I sighed. "I'll dump you at a hospital." I nodded at the driver. I haven't figured a name for him yet. "You know, you're not very good company."

"Good. The less time I spend with you, the higher my life expectancy," she said sharply. I pretended to look hurt.

"What? No 'thanks Joker for saving me from the big bad bat'?" I asked.

"Maybe if you didn't throw me out of a window…"

"Fine," I retorted as we slowed up to the clinic. "Just don't expect it to happen again."

"Me getting thrown out a window? I sure hope not."

"Haha. You should do stand-up," I mocked. "Maybe you should talk about your attempts to balance chaos. That's definitely a laugh." She scowled, but didn't try to refute my words. She ran a hand over her hair and sighed, looking out the window at the hospital.

As soon as we stopped, she opened the door and slid out, being careful to watch her right leg as she did so. I saw her face harden and her jaw clench when she put weight on it, but she turned away almost immediately as if to hide it, and slammed the door. I scooted over and rolled the window down slightly so she could hear me.

"Next time, use your whole body to absorb the impact, not just your leg," I taunted.

She awkwardly turned back to me and flipped me off with a terse smirk.

Laughing, I motioned for the driver to start driving, but right before we pealed away, I leaned closer out the window.

"Cripple coming through!" I howled. Cackling, I rolled the window up again.

As we left the lot, I saw some woman walk over to Nymph and take her arm to help her inside. I leaned back in my seat, my lips still frozen in quiet mirth.

I wonder if old Stella Rosario has any relatives.

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**Author's Note: **Yeah, this was a little fluffier, slightly OOC for Joker. This isn't permanent, I swear! I'm trying! (hangs head)

(Turns into **ADORBLE** lolkitty)

Reviewses plz? K thnx bi!


	5. A Lesson

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the late update. School started up and I've been auditioning for college musical theatre the past two weeks, so I've been preparing for that! Anyway, I've seriously laid out the plot of this story, and I believe I've got the kinks knocked out. Hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly, maybe every weekend. That's a wish. Haha.

**Reviewers:**

Forever Jinx – She didn't have the files necessary to figure that out. Yet. Though the Chinese might put the pieces together …Thanks for reviewing!

lukeyg – I actually like the Batman's growl, too. I have to say, I love your reviews. They are certainly thought-provoking, and I'll admit I've taken on one or two ideas you've mentioned. For example, I really liked your 'Burn After Reading' suggestion. I won't give away my devised plot, but it did roughly influence how _this_ story is going to end up. And the next chapter is going to be dedicated to you and your interest of the 'lost year' in between the second and third chapters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Batman franchise. Or Heath Ledger. If_ I_ owned Heath Ledger, he wouldn't have died. (scowl)

The Chaos Theory

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The smell of hospitals comforts me. The sounds, not so much, but today the free clinic was thankfully empty of the really ghastly stuff, unusual for Gotham.

I had just got back from an X-Ray of my foot. With hyper-extended shoulder muscles, a bruised tendon, and a fractured toe, my doctor recommended that I wait a while in the examination room until he could scrounge up some Valium for the pain and wrappings for my swollen ankle. Since there's no use trying to splint a toe, I would just have to not be running around for a few days. I already got treated for the nasty cut on my knee. The bruise was already beginning to show there.

I told the doctor that I had been fixing a light bulb on a stepladder, and that when I jumped off I landed wrong. It was lame, and didn't explain the shoulder, but thankfully Gotham medical personnel know better than to ask too many questions.

I was sitting on the tissue-covered bench, tenderly testing my arm by rotating it in circles. I closed my eyes and hissed, hardly registering that the door opened and closed.

"Do you think I should put an ice pack on it when I get home—oh shit."

I had opened my eyes, and found the Batman's hulking figure in from of the door.

"Did he drop you off?" the Batman rasped. It took a moment to regain speech.

"I _did_ get pushed out of a window," I replied evenly.

"I wasn't going to hurt you if you had just come quietly."

"Doesn't matter. I wasn't going to play scapegoat for the Squid."

"He was with you at Wayne Enterprises, wasn't he?" he asked.

"You have no authority to question me," I told him. "Besides, I don't legally exist. You could never get me in court. Did the Chinese tell your precious police force _that_?"

The Bat took my bad arm and twisted it. I gave a quiet squeak of pain, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

"Let go of me!" I snapped, struggling to relieve the pressure that was on my already strained shoulder.

"What did you want with those files?"

"Nothing that concerns you! The Chinese mob would have better answers! Why aren't you yanking _their_ arms out of their sockets? OW!" He threw my arm down.

"You were a part of that team. You must have overheard something, no matter how much they paid you off."

"What do I get out of this if I tell you? Immunity?" I scoffed. "The Squid was obviously expecting the pigs to get to me, not you."

"Like you said, you legally don't exist. What would you get git out of immunity?"

"What else is there, then? Threats? Bribes? You want me as this double agent, but…" I shook my head. "Listen, I look after my own interests. I'm not really a part of the mob's inner circle, alright?"

"I don't need that much information. I already looked through the files you had at your apartment. I want to know where the other files went, and what they are to be used for."

"_What_," I asked clearly, "_do I get out of this?_"

"What do you want out of it?"

I thought for a moment. I'm sure staying out of the MCU or county would be nice. Not existing doesn't mean I don't stay out of prison if caught, it means staying there a few days until they sort out the paperwork.

But, knowing the vigilante before me, now I would be tracked, regardless of the legal situation.

"Alright. Once, I want you to get the police off of my trail. This should be easy, unless the Chinese managed to get a picture of my bare face?" Finding a negative in Batman's eyes, I continued. "And two, I want _you_ to stay out of my business."

"I can't promise that," he said flatly.

I shrugged, leaning back and smiling sweetly.

"Then you lose out."

He seemed to consider. I wondered what face was under that mask.

Was he a legal nobody, like me, and wore it simply for the mystery factor? Maybe he was disfigured, or burned, under that black mask. It wouldn't be the first time that someone with scars covered it up with a costume…

Or maybe he was well-known. The memory of Harvey Dent's press conference came to mind. I didn't see it myself, but Jan told me about it during work. Part of me really thought it could be Dent. That is, of course, until I read GCN online that Dent had been saved from the Joker by the Batman later that night.

I liked this high profile theory. Someone with money to spend, from the look of his elaborate getup and gadgets, and time to spend it. A minor politician, maybe?

But my musings were interrupted by said Batman.

"Okay, you get your requests. I'll divert the police to the Chinese dealings." He hesitated before continuing. "And I'll lose tabs with you. That is _unless_ you decide to pull stunts like you've been doing."

"Fair enough," I said, already planning how to shake this man's notice. "The Squid wanted certain files that prove that you kidnapping Mr. Lau of Lau Security Investments connects with Wayne Enterprise's CEO's visit to Hong Kong. He wants to create an international incident that will topple the company."

"And you?"

"I would believe that, regarding our recent understanding, you shouldn't need that information," I said tightly.

"Fair enough," he echoed. "Do you have an idea of the Squid's real name, or the headquarters?"

"I don't know his name, but you might find him at the Hunan restaurant on 4th and 16th in the Narrows ever once in a while."

"So what does the Joker have to do with all of this?" he asked.

"I'm guessing that bonfire down at the warehouses two years ago didn't go over well with the Chinese. I'm guessing the Joker just wants to cover his ass."

He nodded once, and then left.

The doctor returned soon after. He handed me a prescription for Valium and an ice pack for my shoulder. After tightly binding my ankle, he dismissed me and I limped out of the clinic. I waved down a taxi.

I wouldn't be able to get to the apartment for another day or two. My laptop would be gone, of course, probably confiscated by the Batman or the police. I wondered how Batman would send them running the other direction. Weren't the police finally adamant on their stance towards him, the 'cop-killer'? The news said something about that odd spotlight on top of the Major Crimes Unit being smashed about two years ago. It hasn't been seen since Harvey Dent's death.

The taxi pulled up in front of a small motel on the outskirts of the financial district, by the piers. I took out my wallet that I carried in my baggy cargos and paid the driver. I no longer carried a purse. Not with my lifestyle. I was lucky that had had my money in my pants when I had to go on the run.

I paid up front at the desk. I always had a couple hundreds on me. What was that phrase; planning for the worst is divine? Whatever. I was going to stay for a couple days, and I certainly wasn't going to use a credit card. I could camp out at the gym if my apartment was no longer safe. My boxing instructor likes me. She would vouch for me if anyone complained. I just didn't have enough money to move again. I hoped it wouldn't come to that. Hopefully everyone would move on and I could get back to…life, I guess you could call it. What the hell else could I do?

I had to rethink a few things. With Wayne Enterprises a dead cause, I had to find something else. In the meantime, though, I needed a shift my meager deposits and find a place to live, and lay low until I fade well into the background of Gotham's underworld. I wouldn't be discouraged yet.

About two days later, I decided to discretely check out my apartment. The Chinese had not yet ferreted out my anonymous back account, so I could still draw out some of the money they gave me. It wasn't much, a couple thousand, and I needed it to last for a while until I could find another job.

I got a taxi to the apartment building across from mine. I went up the stairwell and got to the sixth floor. I found a window facing the street and pulled a pair of binoculars from the duffle bag I brought with me. I focused on my window, third from the left. It was still open from the other day. I peered inside. I could faintly make out the overturned couch and my front door was open slightly, probably from the broken lock. After a few minutes, I determined that it looked empty. But there was only one way to be sure.

I picked up my bag and made my way out of the building and across the street. Scanning my surroundings, I went to the side of my apartment, to the fire escape. My plan was to get to the roof and take the stairs down to my floor. Some of the residents propped the door open up on the roof to take a smoke.

Favoring my leg and shoulder, I pulled myself up, the duffle slung across my back. I made sure no one was watching and I climbed up the stairs. I cautiously climbed the ladder that led to the roof and headed for the door.

I heard no one on the stairwell, just the echoes of the people in their apartments. When I got to my floor, the door was still open. I peeked inside before opening it fully. My heart beating rapidly, I wished I still had my gun.

No one was there, like I'd guessed. I sighed and began searching the room for anything the cops left behind. My laptop was gone, as I suspected, as well as the large packet of W.E. files I kept under the sink. The purse and the cell phone that I sometimes used were also missing. The mattress in the cramped bedroom had been thrown off of the bed frame and was leaning against the wall.

Irritation rose up in me as I surveyed the damage in my bedroom. They even took my jewelry box, one that contained the few items of value I had owned. Those police bastards must have nicked it. They wouldn't need a damned jewelry box just to find me. I stormed into the kitchen and kicked over one of the chairs. I slammed a fist on the table and slumped over it. Part of me, the one that sounded like the Joker, asked in an amused tone why I was getting to upset over a few stolen items. It wasn't like they were…part of the plan.

_I don't care._

I wasn't sure which part of me said that, or whether it was directed to the box being a part of the plan, or that I didn't really care that they were stolen. That I couldn't tell the difference bugged me.

I swallowed and straightened. I would wait a few more days, stow away at the gym, and make sure no one was coming back.

I went back to the bedroom, to the closet. At least they didn't take my clothes.

I was shoving some necessary items into the duffle when I heard the floor creak from behind me. I spun, crouching to defend myself. My eyes narrowed when I saw who it was.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, standing.

"Where's the Joker?"

"I have no fucking clue," I snapped. "At least the Joker keeps his promises. Have you been following me?"

"No. I got a call from him that traced him here." He paused, studying me. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"It's _my_ damn apartment. What I'm doing here is not your business, as I recall."

"I told you, you are not the reason I'm here."

"Well, there was no sign of the clown when I arrived," I said, bending down to throw a pair of jeans and two shirts into the bag before zipping it up. "Sorry I can't be more help."

Just as I brushed by him to leave the bedroom, the phone rang. I froze, and turned around. The Batman and I shared a surprised glance. I went for the phone in the kitchen, but he was faster.

He didn't speak into the phone when he picked it up. He looked like he was listening, his expression stoic. His eyes flicked to me, and then he extended the phone to me.

"_He_ wants to speak with you," he muttered, suspicion in his eyes. Mine widened.

"How did he know I was here?" I whispered, staring at the phone.

"Ask him yourself."

I wet my lips, took the phone, and raised the receiver to my ear.

"_Hi_ya Nymph!"

"What are you up to, Joker?" I asked, guessing that Batman's presence in my apartment the same time I happened to be there was no mere coincidence. Not with a man like him.

"Why is every time I check up on you, I_ have_ to have an ulterior motive?" he said wryly. "Why can't I just call to see what's crackin'?"

"Logical deduction," I replied.

"Alright, you caught me," he obliged. "I have a friend here who is quite eager to see you. Wanna talk to her?" I heard the adjustment of the phone with his high-pitched giggling, and then a strange ripping sound. And then came the panicked screams.

"Shh, shh, now," the Joker's voice said over the screams. "Don't want to break poor Stella's eardrums with all that, do we? She couldn't possibly talk to you in this state."

Goosebumps broke over my body. Who…?

"Stella, baby, d-don't listen to him…please, just call the police, d-don't—"

I grasped the ledge of the kitchen counter for support, my eyes wide and unseeing.

"Mom?" I choked out. Another shuffling noise with the other line.

"And wouldn't Mommy be proud of her little girl for all she's done?" the Joker crowed gleefully.

"Where the _fuck_ do you have her, you sonuvabitch?" I barked, my body starting to shake.

"Oh, don't worry, nothing's gonna happen to Mommy. Yet. You just do a little favor for me and get over to the piers. We need to have a little chat, _darling_. Oh, and you should probably hurry. You know, you're a lot like her. Same stature, same hair texture, same annoying tendency to talk and talk and talk. And I don't think you'll like how I would shut her up. Now, hand me over to Bats."

"Where at the piers?" I snapped, pushing off of the counter.

"Shut up and hand me to that big scary hunk of black Kevlar."

I resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall and did what he asked, feeling bile rising to my throat. I watched as the Batman's expressions went from mistrust to outrage to frustration. He slammed the phone down.

"Only you can go to the piers, or else your mother's dead outright. No cops, either. They're in the seventh row of warehouses, thirteenth from the left."

I hardly heard him. I was thinking.

"Did you not think that with all your dealings with the Joker, he wouldn't do something like this?" the Batman snapped at me.

"I'm not all that naïve anymore," I murmured thoughtfully. "I've learned that much from him and my own mistakes."

"I'll deal with him, you stay here."

"No," I said, looking up at him, my resolve solidifying. "I told you I'm not as naïve anymore. I knew my mother would most likely be targeted if I kept dealing my life like this, so I got prepared."

"How?"

"You'll probably lock him up in Arkham right?"

"Obviously," he grunted. "No other institution will take someone like him."

I smirk.

"I have a more permanent resolution."

"You want to kill him?"

"No." I reached for the phone. "Just hurt the thing he loves most."

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I hate waiting.

Especially when it includes waiting with a woman who won't shut up.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on her!" "What are you trying to accomplish?" "Please, kill me, just leave Stella alone!" "My Stella is a clever one. You'll be in the nut house once they find—"

"Okaaay." I rolled my shoulders back, a strained smile on my face as I turned to the woman. I pulled out the duct tape from my coat pocket. Ripping off a good long strip, I leaned over Nymph's mother. "Quiet time, kiddies." After I stuck the tape over her mouth, I patted her on the head as she glared at me with red-rimmed eyes.

I love duct tape.

More capable to ignore Ms. Rosario's muffled protests, I resumed my pacing. What was taking that damned Nymph so long? Who was she bringing, the Coast Guard? Marines?

And then I heard a very familiar motorcycle. I tightened the grip I had on both the remote and the gun I had. I smiled.

Batsy fixed his toy.

The engine from outside shuts off, and everything is quiet, including the incessantly chatty middle aged woman tied up the metal chair. Then there's a banging on the warehouse door.

"It's open," I barked. Another pause, and then the door creaked open. A slim figure entered, alone.

"Joker," Stella said shortly, stopping as she came within twenty feet of her mother and I. Her face was stony. Her mother was shaking her head, frantic sounds leaking past the tape.

"So…" I drawled. "You brought along the Batman. Didn't he tell you what will happen if—?"

"I told Batman to stay outside, along with the SWAT team. Wouldn't that deter you?"

"Because there is only one thing I want to show you today, my faithful student. I just want to give you the first-hand experience of just how easily a mind can snap when a person has one _really _bad day."

I walked behind the seat her mother was seated in. I looked at the woman pointedly, and then raised the remote. I turned the knob in the center of the handmade buzzer. The sound of charging electricity could be heard as I revved it up. I watched Stella's face fall in apprehension and fear. I pressed the button, and watched in amusement as Ms. Rosario's muscles locked with the current running through her body. One could even make out her mouth straining against the tape as it opened in a silent scream.

From the look on the Nymph's face, I snickered, and shut off the current.

"You look a little, uh, _shocked_, sweetheart," I crooned. Watching her compose her agonized face, I continued. "You see, this is the only way you can _learn._"

"By killing my mother?" her voice cracked, but then she clenched her jaw and looked me icily. "Do you think I would just stand here and allow myself to fall completely into your mindset just because you kill my mother? Oh, yeah, I'll be pissed, but I'm not that weak-minded."

"Really?" I turn up the voltage and shock Ms. Rosario again. This time hysteric moans came from her mother, and her body reacted with small jerks and shudders. Stella took a step forward. "Ah, ah, ah…" I point my gun at Stella, making her stop. I turned off the voltage again. Her mother slumped.

"I don't think you will want to keep doing that," Nymph murmured. Her attempt to sound threatening was comical.

I laugh. "Why? Because I'll kill her if I knock it up two more notches?" I mock. "You know what, though? I really don't think anyone will blame you for losing it after seeing the horrifying torture and death of dear mommy."

I press the button again, the current a tad higher. There's a smell of burnt hair after a few seconds, but her mother is still alive once I shut it off again. "Oh, and don't even think about calling in your Super Squad." I turn the gun to her mother. "Or Mommy gets it. You choose. A quick death, or your silly thinking that I might change my mind after a little debate?"

Stella is silent for a moment, studying me stoically. She swallows, debating about something.

"How about a trade?" she says slowly. I cock a brow. "The thing you care about most, for the person I care about most. If not, we both lose them." I start howling with laughter.

"You—you have nothing to threaten me with, Nymph."

"I can take away your chaos." I froze and stared at her, and lowered the remote.

"And how, uh, will you go about doing _that_?" I asked smoothly. She smiled slightly, licking her bottom lip and stared at me through shrewd, half-lidded eyes.

"You're so fond of choices, so here is yours. You release my mother—alive—and the Batman will take you to Arkham. You kill her, or even me, and some of my Chinese mob friends on the SWAT team will take you to someone I know who's willing to perform a Freeman lobotomy. I think I'm right in saying that the Chinese are eager to punish you for what you did to their own. Maybe you'll be lucky and you won't die of infection. Hopefully you'll just be docile, like ever other fucking sheep in Gotham. No chaos. No anarchy—"

"You're bluffing."

"Not if you don't release my family." Her face was hard, impassive. She was giving me the choice, and was waiting for me to make it so she could carry it out. Women liked to lie, but not Nymph. She _has_ changed. I'm kind of enjoying it.

A pause, then I start to laugh.

"And you think _I'm_ a good reader."

"What's your choice?" she tells me evenly.

"Bring in the Bats. Speaking of, how'd you get on such good terms with him?"

"I guess he's the kind of person that doesn't like mothers getting slaughtered by a maniac," she says evenly. I shrugged, and pressed the button for another second, just to see the look on Nymph's face. It was worth it, even as she whistled for the Batman.

But with that smug look on her face, I considered shooting her anyway. One bullet to the head. The Batman would get to me first, before the thugs on the SWAT team. My thumb brushed the hammer on the gun.

I hesitated just long enough, though, for the Batman to disarm me and have me on the ground. I sighed in annoyance.

"Been waiting for this little reunion, hmm, Bats?" I asked blankly.

"We're not having another," he growled. "You're going to Arkham and staying there."

"Right," I sneered. He kept me pinned until the police could usher me outside. I blinked out in the sunlight, and saw the SWAT team packing up and leaving. But a familiar white van was parked in front of me.

"Hello boys," I told the men in the white suits. "Miss me?" They didn't answer.

I was able to catch one more look at Nymph before they loaded me into the van. She didn't look smug as the men from Arkham stuck that awful jacket on me. She was solemn, her arms crossed in front of her chest. I raised my eyebrows and smiled broadly at her. A small, tired grin was her only reply before she turned and slipped her way between the warehouses, escaping the notice of everyone but me. The Batman seemed to have flown off somewhere too.

_Well, this was anti-climatic,_ I thought as a stocky blond guy jumped into the back of the van with me and secured the straps of the jacket to the wall. Then we started off.

"You're new," I commented casually. "I haven't, uh, checked_ your_ profile out yet. Ex Russian mob, maybe? They hire guys like you all the time." He scowled at me. "Snarl says yes. How'd ya get out? Pay 'em off, maybe?"

"You better shut mouth, clown, or I shut it for you," he said with a heavy accent.

"Mum's the word." I tapped my feet against the floor of the van. I coughed. "You don't think I could get a phone call—?"

"No."

He wasn't a guy to argue with.

I knew we were entering the asylum grounds as the potholes increased and the thunder crashed overhead. Okay, maybe not that last part.

I was unloaded near the back, by the solitary cells. I followed, bored, as we passed the rows of shrieking inmates and guards drunk with their own power. Then I came face-to-face with a man introduced to me as my psychiatrist. He smiled nervously at me. I smiled back, and then lunged for him.

I was surprised at the staff's agility. It took less than three seconds for them to stick me with a sedative.

I hate Arkham.

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**Author's Note: **Shorter than usual, kind of fragmented and rushed, but I think it's getting somewhere.

Reviews are manna for my soul!


	6. Inhale, Exhale

**Author's Note: **Is there another person from Bolivia reading this? If so, please review! I like not to be alone down here in South America reading and writing. XD

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Batman franchise. Or Ziploc.

**Extra Side Note:** This one is dedicated to lukeyg, everybody! So thanks, lukeyg, for your great reviews and continued support!

The Chaos Theory

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It's nearing the middle of October here in Gotham. It has been nearly a month since my mom was kidnapped and the Joker was sent to Arkham. I don't feel secure living so close to that place in the Narrows. He's broken out once, and I'm positive he'll find a way to do it again. I don't want to think about what he'll do when he finally catches up with me. But it's not like I could afford living anywhere else

I've been bunking down at the gym up until the last week or so. I almost have enough money to get a new apartment. One more job and I'll be good to go.

I would have been kickboxing there for two years this coming March. It's strange. That time of my life feels like a century ago. Coming out of a chrysalis is not the beautiful thing some might see it as. It is violent, disorienting, and unnatural to say the least. But I did my best with what I could.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I began carefully slipping through the firewalls. On my lap was a laptop I nicked from an oblivious suit on the subway. I didn't like trying to hack into banks, especially since nearly all of them have mob connections. And with mob connections, you get very high-class security programs. It was risky, but my back was getting cramped from sleeping with only a few layers of blankets between me and the cement floor every night.

And I had another plan set in place. Help never comes cheap.

My heart sped up as I inched slowly towards my destination. One slip and some task force would be on top of me before I could shut down the computer.

The first time I did it was twice as nerve-wracking.

A few weeks after my own kidnapping two Marches ago, I looked up two friends I had known in university; John Wei Chin and Mike Stevens. They had helped me out when I needed some help with my computer and when I needed to change my freshman Chemistry grade. Everyone on campus who had a few fifties lying around came to them when they needed a grade boost or some quick extra cash. As far as I know, they still haven't been caught.

So I pulled some money from my savings account to get lessons in serious hacking, and more for the kickboxing training. I was hesitant to do so, but only because I was planning to use that money to buy a car. I reasoned myself out of it, though. Traffic in Gotham is ghastly, and more often than not your car gets either a missing radio or cement blocks for tires.

Once I got their agreement, I went to Mike and John's flat right after work at the publishing company and learned not only how to get past firewalls, but also how to fish out passwords and deeply buried encryptions. It took only a couple of months for Mike to insist that I try to take funds from a bank.

I don't have the same fear I had then, but the experience still gave me this sharp sense of anxiety.

"C'mon, you little bastard," I muttered, rapidly typing on the keyboard.

There was a virus blocking my way, and it was being stubborn. If I didn't get around it quickly…

"Yes!"

I worked hastily, only taking a couple thousand from each account I could break into. I only took a breath when I closed the laptop and headed out. I waved at a few of the guys who were working the bags.

"Stella! Are you going out?"

I turned around to find a petite, dark-haired woman jogging up to me from one of the workout rooms.

"Yeah. Got to meet my mom at Korvac's Deli." Kim gave me a pitying look.

"Apartment hunting again?" she said knowingly. I grinned coldly.

"Right. And then to Korvac's."

"Right," she repeated. "Pick up one of his ham and cheese paninis for my dinner, will you?"

"Sure, sure," I said as I pushed open the glass door. The cling of bells accompanied my exit.

I certainly wasn't going to meet my mother. I haven't had one word with her since the kidnapping. I wasn't about to face her so soon after that. I don't think I would be ready to face her ever again after that.

I was stupid to let Kim know the generalities regarding my situation, and my past. Not that I was afraid of her selling me out. She was one of the few decent people you could find in the Narrows. No, I just happened to have the worst experiences with people who get to know me.

First the Joker, with that anarchy debate fiasco and subsequent incidents with the man.

And then Jan when I got fired. She completely shunned me like a pariah after the fact.

The Squid is another good example. I was still dealing with the aftermath of him setting me up to be taken down by the police and the Batman.

And, of course, my mother with her near-death experience.

And then there was David.

I reached the ATM in the corner market, looking around me as I did so. I was paranoid these days, and I had every right to be. I was sure the Squid hadn't forgotten me, and I don't think I have to mention a certain psychotic clown again.

The slot spit out a few hundreds and I pocketed it after a glance over my shoulder. Jaywalking across the intersection, I headed to Korvac's Deli. I had people waiting there.

I nodded at Korvac behind the counter before going through the back door that led to the basement.

"Have a ham and cheese ready for me when I head out," I told him before disappearing through the door and down the stairs.

I heard hushed voices as I descended. They stopped as they caught my footsteps, and started up again when I rapped SOS on the door on the left at the foot of the stairs. There was a pause as someone looked through the peephole, and then the door swung open.

"Nymph," the man muttered as I entered.

"Any news, Ring?" I asked casually.

"Everything is in place for tonight. Aaron just got back from rewiring the cameras."

"Great." I looked around the room, feeling and stifling a pang of nostalgia as I was reminded once again of my first few months with this group. My interest in the anarchist underground had started before the Joker's involvement, but it skyrocketed, to say the least, when I was forced into a certain mindset.

I sighed and went to sit down at the table. The rest of the people were still chatting. Ring cleared his throat and the room quieted down. He began by asking everyone if they were prepared, and continued by reviewing the exact steps of the plan for the coming night.

Watching these men and women that I had known for nearly two years, I couldn't help but feel the yawning gap that one of our previous members had left behind. Many come and go in this society. Trying to keep anarchists organized is like herding cats. I was able to come back after six months of absence with ease.

But having one of the most ardent constituents of our little gang, the man who introduced me to Ring and some of the older members, missing from this meeting was like a punch in the gut to me.

I guess it's me who is largely responsible for David's current status, but he had a bit of the blame himself.

"Nymph?"

My head rose.

"Yes?"

Did I sound as tired as I thought I did?

"Do you have anything to add?"

I straightened and managed to put on a wry smile.

"I suppose everything that needs to be said will be said tonight."

Everyone nodded in agreement and a few murmured comments like, "It's about time" and "Damn straight". After the meeting was adjourned, I spoke with Ring and a few others over details. Some left through the back door of the deli upstairs, and some carefully made their way out the front. I waited a while down in the basement myself, still sitting at the table.

"You good to get home?" Ring asked as he headed out.

"Fine," I said, smiling at him good-naturedly. He smiled back and closed the door behind him. I sighed and slumped forward, resting my forehead on my arm.

All these parts we have to play.

I looked at the wall across from me, the one covered in posters and spray paint depicting slogans and heroes. David's face stared at me from one of the posters. I glared at my ex-boyfriend. I could almost hear his voice in my ear…

_What d'ya think you're lookin' at, Stella? _Your_ hero?_

Your ugly mug. What else?

_Aw, sweetie. You were always so flattering. _

You were just as flattering, as I recall.

_Oh, right. Remember when you tried to burn my eye out with your joint when I told you that you were an ugly bitch with a fat ass? What a laugh. _

I don't want to remember that.

_Aw, c'mon! Don't you want remember all our trips together? You were such a lightweight back then. You could hardly hold it in for two seconds. _

A rasping cough, pupils dilating, room undulating.

_Oh yeah, and the singing. All that damn singing._

I don't want to remember that.

"Hey, Stella, don't forget your sandwich!"

I grabbed for the paper bag automatically and threw a ten on the counter, saying something about keeping the change.

Drugs came gradually with my relationship with David. It started with marijuana, which I experimented with early in my college years. Next came the mushrooms, and salvia, and then some LSD and ecstasy.

I cut off cold turkey after his incarceration, but started up again after my own bit of jail time.

With him, I thought I was reaching enlightenment, but I only reached tolerance of the harder stuff.

And now I found myself thrown back into that world he first brought me into all that time ago. It began with the drugs after the MCU hack job, and then the destruction of that Starbucks on 49th and Ravel three days ago. And now I was back with his group.

Where the hell was enlightenment? I think I lost it when I couldn't find the means to create after I destroyed.

This time I had the Joker in my head instead of David.

_Told you so…_

I bought a newspaper at the corner store and flipped past the first page announcing the continued search for those responsible for the coffee shop bombing on Tuesday. I stopped when I reached the classified section. No apartments in reasonable price range at all, let alone in the Narrows. I groaned and threw it in the trash.

Sticking my hand in my pocket, I headed back to the gym. I had to pack up everything for tonight. Regardless of sleeping arrangements, or lack thereof, I had to take Kim out of the mix I seem to keep finding myself in.

"That my ham and cheese?" Kim asked as I walked through the door.

"Yeah," I replied as she rushed up to me and grabbed the bag with little ceremony.

"Find any apartments while you were out?" she asked as she inspected the sandwich eagerly.

"Actually, I did," I lied cheerfully. "Some guy really wanted some quick cash, so he sold his brother's flat on the other side of the Narrows. He's in jail or something, and the guy hinted that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon."

"When are you moving in?"

"He said I could get the keys any time today," I said. "I already paid him." I began walking to the back, where I had been sleeping the past month. "There's a cot set up and everything, so I think I'll hit the bags for a bit, and then pack up."

"So soon?" she asked, following. "Have you even checked the place out yet?"

"Yeah, he showed me around for a bit before we went back to Korvac's. It's perfect, and the price is really low. I was lucky to catch it before anyone else did."

How did I get to be such a good liar?

_Forgetting me already?_

Be still, ungrateful heart.

"Well, okay. You're still going to come to train here after you move, right?" Kim asked.

"We'll see. I'll try," I replied vaguely before disappearing through the back door. She didn't follow me.

I changed quickly into a t-shirt and spandex shorts. I wrapped up my knuckles and went to the mat. There were already a few people at the bags. Kim was doing some Muay Thai with Jacob on the ring. She had been teaching me some of the Muay Thai technique. It's a shame that I was leaving. I would have liked to continue training in Muay Thai. My kicks were getting noticeably more powerful.

I turned to my bag and began warming up with a few simple combinations. I gradually picked up the pace, and eventually all I could sense was the sound of my grunts and the _thwap_ of each punch and kick against the bag.

"_Hgh_…" _Thwap. _

_Kicking the shit out of a bag isn't going to get you anywhere._

Shut up.

_Ho, ho. Cute. Projecting _my _face on the bag. Very mature._

"Hff!" _Thwap. THWAP._

What I wouldn't give to wipe that damn smirk…_THWAP THWAP THWAP._

"Someone's pissed."

"_Shit_!" I swore, catching the wildly swinging bag. Kim easily stepped back from it. "Jesus, Kim, you scared me."

"Thinking of someone in particular?" she asked, looking pointedly at the punching bag. "Your swings were going wild."

"Yeah, you could say that," I muttered, glaring at the offending thing. I started to unwind the tape around my knuckles. They were red and beginning to swell. Saying nothing more to Kim, I headed to the back of the gym again.

I packed my scant belongings into my duffle, and threw the laptop into a black trash bag. Someone from the bank would eventually track it if they caught wind of the missing funds, which they probably would. I would toss it as soon as possible.

I said goodbye to Kim and the other trainers before I left the gym. I was probably not going to see them again, if the plan worked tonight, or even if it didn't.

I flagged down a taxi. He dropped me at the abandoned shipyards right off of 16th Grange Street. I paid him, and then made sure he drove out of sight. I slung the duffle bag over my shoulder so that it was hanging over my back, and began to climb the wire fence with the sign "Wayne Enterprises. Private Property. No Trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted."

Who would have known the company would have such a convenient place for executing one of the most blatant introductions of anarchy to the city?

Once I reached the warehouse door, I took the key from the chain around my neck, unlocked the deadbolt, and entered onto the small shaft. I hit a button on the side and I was lowered down as the lights flickered on below me.

It took a few weeks to find the right place. It was a guy who was a janitor in the W.E. building that was able to find out about this place. It had been completely inaccessible until two years ago. Aaron found a grate full of burned papers in one of the walls and a few surprisingly high-tech security systems in the rusted shaft. They had been completely disabled, but the touch-sensitive pad was still there in place of the emergency lever.

Probably some government project. Aaron was itching to pull it all out to find out whose fingerprints were registered on the pad. After everything, I was going to see if I could salvage any of the burned papers. It was mostly clumps of ash, but I still placed the remains in a gallon-sized Ziploc bag to look at later.

I threw my duffle on one of the spinning chairs at the computer station that had been set up on the other side of the warehouse. One computer was broadcasting live coverage of the city's news station, and the other beside it was shut off. I sat down at the desk and booted up the second computer.

It was five o'clock. Two hours to wait.

As I watched the modem connect, I felt that familiar itch in my chest that went with my anxiety and my tapping feet.

To think that, once, the only addiction I had was debate boards. Thank god I never tried meth.

I checked my private inbox once I got online, and checked the wireless connections on both of the computers.

One and a half hours.

I called Aaron at one hour til.

"Hello?"

"It's Nymph."

"Is this a secure line?" I heard him chuckle. I sighed.

"Did you double check everything?" I asked.

"I told you, sweetheart—" I flinched at the familiar pet-name "—I can't really check until I actually flip the switch."

"Okay, well…check the wires again. And don't call me sweetheart."

"Yes, oh captain, my captain," he stated before hanging up. I sighed again, the thirst for another fix creeping up my spine.

To distract myself, I decided to get changed and ready for the night. I took my black clothes from the duffle bag and stripped off my street clothes. The cotton was light and snug, and the combat boots—though a bit ostentatious, not to mention useless—were menacing enough help me get into character. At least, that was what Ring told me.

I put on the makeup last.

When I was finished, I glanced at the clock on the computer. Taking my cell from the desk, I dialed up Aaron's assistant, Ty.

"Hello?"

"Everything set?" I asked.

"Yeah. We're going live in ten minutes."

I settle in my chair and turned on the webcam hooked into the computer. I checked myself by looking on the screen for a moment. I had pulled my hair up into a tight bun on the crown of my head. And then, of course, there was the mask of paint.

I never was very theatric before, but there was something enticing about the bright blue and gold changing my face, making me into someone bolder, bigger, more inhuman. I understood how the Joker felt when he appeared with his face paint.

Five minutes. I stared at the television screen, watching the talking heads parrot their scripts for the evening. I saw the news flicker and goes into static, and then my face appeared on the screen. I took a deep breath and dropped my voice to a loud whisper; disguising my voice as well as making people hush and listen more closely to my words.

"Good morning Gotham. Please excuse this little interruption, but…I would like to think it is my duty to clarify the whole situation. As you may well know, the Joker and the crew of misfits like him have been, well, terrorizing our poor city for a while now. The police and our government aren't doing much about it. Batman is trying, as, but you don't trust him anymore, do you? But he's not doing much either, to tell the truth. I believe it's time to get out of this boring cycle, don't you agree? Something's got to give. We citizens of Gotham have been caught in the middle for too long.

"Yes, it was I who blew up the Starbucks. Oh, but this is only the beginning, my dear friends. Believe me; you won't be caught in this web for much longer. But, because you are all a part of this too, I am encouraging you to throw yourself into the madness and join me as I bring Gotham up from the ashes. It is no use trying to stop this, my fellow Gothamians. Chaos is rising, and it's going to be burning and cleansing this city of the corruption that's been indefinitely ignored.

"No more tricks. No more games. I am not the Joker. I am not the Batman. I am not the mob. I am not the police. I am not your elected officials. I am _you_, Gotham, in all your glorious, unrealized power. I am here to show the so-called heroes and villains of our storybook city that they cannot stand against the true power of Anarchy. They will become _meaningless_.

"The next time you see flames licking the sky, remember that."

The screen on the television set went blank.

I blinked and slowly leaned back in my chair. I was analyzing my feelings, and I felt…

Disappointed.

I was expecting that I would feel drunk with fulfillment, proud, even excited to see the response this will make in the city.

But I didn't. I felt fake, like the whole this was a pointless joke.

Heartless.

Uncaring.

I felt…_nothing._

I exhaled softly. This wasn't what I was supposed to be feeling. This isn't what was supposed to happen. What happened to the passion to make the opportunity to change the world? The exhilaration? At least watching the Starbucks explode was satisfyingly beautiful.

I looked inside myself, and realized that it was gone.

Another exhale.

I robotically stood and walked over to my duffle bag only partially full with all my worldly possessions. I pulled out a small Ziploc bag, some papers, and a lighter. My fingers fumbled to roll the first joint.

The demons of despair were slithering into the corners of my mind. Ever since I came out of that chrysalis, they have only gotten more powerful and more enticing.

My tongue tasted the bland flavor of wax.

There was no enlightenment. Just ridiculous blue paint and stupid plans. Enough to just want to curl up and die.

I inhaled. The gold paint came off of my lips and onto the paper. I stared up at the ceiling, fighting tears of frustration.

Another inhale.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"_Why don't you fill me up/fill me up/ Buttercup/ baby, don't you let me down/let me down/or mess me arou—"_

I fumbled for my cell phone clumsily. I cleared my dry throat and flicked it open.

"Hello?"

"Is this…Nymph?" a woman's voice asked.

I sat up. I noted absently that I had smeared the blue paint that I had neglected to remove last night on the folded sweater I slept on. I did manage last night, however, to collapse in my makeshift bed wearing nothing but underwear and a ratty tee.

"Do I know you?" I asked. I yawned, my fingers feeling the uneven patched of dried paint on my face and lips.

"Indirectly. You're acquainted with a certain Mista J, are you not?"

The yawn choked off into a spastic cough.

"The Joker? Who is this?" I demanded, leaning forward. The woman laughed shrilly.

"He heard about your act last night and he tells me to congratulate you on the great fiasco. Gave him quite the laugh. Don't get many of those in Arkham Asylum."

"Who are you and what do you want?" She stopped laughing.

"You can call me Quinn. You're going to help me with J's situation," she told me. Quinn? Why did that name sound familiar?

"No chance in hell," I laughed weakly. "That bastard can stay in there. Did he really think I'd agree to help him break out? I put him in there in the first place." I heard a heavy, exasperated sigh on the other line.

"He told me explicitly that you had the skills necessary to help—"

"I don't care what he said," I interrupted coolly. "He's not getting my help to escape from Arkham."

"I didn't call you to ask you to directly help me break him out, Nymph."

I blinked. "What?"

"I need you to create a past for me. Hospital records, fake recommendations, anything that will make the director of Arkham believe that I had gone to work on the west coast after getting away from the Joker."

"Why do you need the director of Arkham to think—?"

"Long story short, I worked at Arkham two years ago," she told me. "The Joker was under my supervision, and everyone thinks he killed me when he escaped the first time." I hesitated a moment before I spoke.

"Even if I help you in this way, he's getting out with your help," I said. "I'm aiding him by letting you get access into Arkham."

"We're willing to give you anything you want. Money, new accommodations, criminal immunity…"

Criminal immunity? He didn't tell this Quinn woman much about me, did he?

"How about immunity from the Joker himself?" I asked. "He doesn't bother me, or my friends or family again after this, throw in a hefty paycheck, and it's a deal." There was a pause.

"Money isn't a problem. But, ah, Miss Rosario…we're talking about the Joker here," she told me chidingly. I could hear the smirk in her voice. "But…I guess if you want to trust him to keep his word…"

"I know. I'll take that chance." He was real damn lucky I was short on cash, a home, and a steady job.

"I'll be in touch, Nymph," Quinn said before hanging up.

I sat frozen for a moment, shocked by this sudden turn of events. I suppose Fate doesn't like me enough to just keep the rest of my days Joker-free. Either that, or he had simply become a permanent fixture for the rest of my life. However much longer that will be, especially if this Quinn woman succeeds in helping him escape. Most likely, in spite of any sort of agreement, he'll slit my throat as soon as he has the time. I've certainly been as much of a pain in his side as he has been to mine.

But hey, I'll get money out of him. I wonder how fast I could spend it before he sends a black spot to me…

At least this time it's _me_ getting _him_ out of a bad situation. Maybe, just before he kills me, I can rub that in his face.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

**Author's Note: **Alright, do I need to start bribing you all for reviews now? With cookies? Cake? Cameos? Seriously, guys, I see you out there. Please, just review once in a while, so I know that those bar graphs aren't just a glitch. Pretty, pretty please?


	7. Curiosity

**Author's Note:** Well, I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to just blindly hope someone is finally going to review…

Who else thinks that this is depressing?

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that is part of the Batman franchise. Or Twilight. Name reference is only out of inability to think up something else. And I don't own Advil. I only buy what they sell.

The Chaos Theory

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"Look at them! They're pissing their pants thinking that we had the nerve and the skills to break into their television station. Pitiful, isn't it? Their secure little world is falling apart. It's great isn't it Nymph?"

I blinked.

"What?" I muttered, fumbling with my cell to shove it back in my pocket.

"Distracted from your triumph, Nymph?" Jade asked wryly. I wish they'd stop acting like they knew me as Nymph. They only knew me when I was just Stella. _I _hardly knew who Nymph was.

"Uh, no. Just reading a text," I said.

I leaned across the table and took the remote. I muted the television we had set up in the basement. Some started to protest.

"I thought this meeting was about our _next_ strike. Not the last one." Ring nodded and stood.

"She's right. We're not done yet. We need to organize another grand event. Something not as subtle as the Starbucks job. Any ideas?"

Alex and a bald woman by the name of Strike began arguing the pros and cons about blowing up another commercial business or blowing up a federal building. I didn't catch who was siding for what. I was too distracted with sending Quinn—or as I recently found out, Harleen Quinzel—my reply.

_I'll meet you with the paperwork in two hours. I'm busy right now._

I cringed as my phone beeped when the message was sent. Luckily only Ring heard. He just looked at me with a raised brow. I ignored him when my phone vibrated again.

_I've been waiting for you to be finished for two weeks. Time is actually an issue here. _

I inwardly grimaced, and snapped the cell phone shut. I stood and leaned over to Ring.

"I've got to go," I murmured into his ear.

"We're trying to decide this group's next move," he muttered. "Don't you want to be a part of this?"

"It's business stuff. I've got to go," I repeated, shoving the cell phone in my pocket and picking up my jean jacket from the back of my chair. A few heads turned toward me. I looked plaintively at Ring. He just sighed and nodded his consent. I flashed him a quick smile of thanks and left. As soon as I was out in the street, I dropped my façade. Frustration was building up in my chest. My association with these people was beginning to feel more like an annoying job than a philosophical mission.

I took my cell from my pocket and dialed, bringing it to my ear.

"Nymph," Quinn greeted.

"I can run to my place and grab the papers. Should I meet you—?"

"At your place," she cut in. "I'm already there." And she hung up. I frowned. Already there? This wasn't good. If she knew, the Joker most certainly knew. And if she was breaking him out—

I stopped that line of thought and concentrated on flagging down a cab.

_You've buried yourself into this,_ I told myself._ You knew the likely consequences, and you chose. So grow up and deal with those consequences._

When I got to the warehouse, I found the lock broken, as expected. Well, as soon as I was paid, I'd get my own place again. Hopefully by then I would be lucky enough to keep under the radar of a certain group of costumed individuals, and I could actually live in one place for an extended period of time. I cautiously entered the shaft and lowered myself down. The lights were already on.

"How long have you been living here?"

I approached the woman sitting at the table on the far left side of the warehouse. She had a distinctly shrill voice that I recognized over the phone, and she was extraordinarily blonde. She was dressed in red and black and her face was painted in mimicry of the Joker's own makeup.

"Four days," I answered. "I've been bunking down here since the news broadcast." She chuckled.

"Hardly an apartment, but I guess it's roomy," she mused, standing up. We faced each other, her smiling red lips in contrast to my tight pale ones.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Miss Quinzel?" I asked blankly.

"I prefer Harley Quinn with business associates. And I wanted to meet J's little Nymph face to face," she said, her eyes sizing me up as she smirked wryly.

"Well, now you have," I said brusquely, heading to the desk. I yanked open a drawer and took out a manila file. I handed it to her. "It's all there. You can look if you wish."

"I don't think there's a need," Quinn told me, sticking the file under her arm and she dug into the pocket of her red leather duster. She pulled out an unmarked envelope and offered it to me. I eyed it warily.

"The Joker gave his word that he would not try to track me down once he gets out," I clarified, watching Quinn carefully.

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "What are you to him, anyway? J's going to have better things to do than hunt some hacker bitch once he gets out." I hesitated, and then took the envelope. I opened it and took out the wad of cash. Fingering through it, it looked like it was all there. Thirty grand. I looked back at Quinn.

"Out of curiosity," I started, shoving the money back into the envelope. "What are _you _to him? From what I gather, his groupies are expendable. What makes you the exception?" She pressed her lips together in an attitude of contempt, her blackened eyes narrowing.

"He likes me," she snapped. I instantly took a step back from her. Not entirely out of fear, but from instinct. Quinn was a dangerous enough woman to consort with the Joker, and when you throw in a little delusion to her personality, it was obvious that I probably shouldn't press her buttons. Feeling uncomfortable under her calculating stare, I looked at the lift pointedly.

"You have everything, right?" I said stiffly. "So you can go." I never gained points in this business by beating around the bush. Quinn sized me up one more time before slowly retreating to the elevator shaft. I waited until I heard the clunk of the door being shut and bolted before allowing myself to take a breath. I fingered the envelope in my hands, pursing my lips in thought.

I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Ring. If I wanted to be out of this warehouse and into a new apartment before Quinn gets the Joker out, I would need some help in the moving process.

When the agreements were made, I grabbed my jacket the envelope. I needed to find an apartment, and I needed to find it now.

It took a few days, but I was able to hunt down an apartment that suited my purposes. It was located over the bridge across from the Narrows. It was a one bedroom, one bathroom package, but the bedroom itself was larger than most apartments in the Narrows. The landlady was quick to jump on the offer of an upfront cash payment, with no questions asked. I assumed I wouldn't be bothered. No one pays close attention to their neighbors in Gotham, even if they're plotting to blow up buildings.

Ring and a few of the other members of the anarchy group helped to move some of my things to the apartment. We decided to keep the computers in the warehouses, but the hard drive was to stay with me, due to security reasons. Since I wasn't staying at the warehouse anymore, we didn't want anyone to stumble upon important information about our operation.

Two weeks passed, and still no news of the Joker breaking out of Arkham. My group continued to plan our next move. We decided to make our next target the police headquarters. Some of the members were set on the Major Crimes Unit, but we didn't have insiders there. We tucked the idea away for later.

I had settled into my apartment, relieved to sleep on a real bed and be able to cook my own food. But I was unable to enjoy it. I was continually on edge, waiting for the clown to pop out of the box, so to speak. The feeling of dread and paranoia refused to dissipate. I tried drowning it with alcohol. I shrunk from the possible hallucinations I'd get if I decided to go tripping on mushrooms.

It was when I was passed out from another night of drinking that I received the phone call. I was startled to wakefulness at three in the morning by my annoyingly cheerful ringtone that I keep forgetting to change.

"What?" I muttered into the cell phone, still feeling the haze of José clouding my head. Tequila always hit me like a ton of bricks, which is why it is my drink of choice these days.

"We have another job for you."

It took me a full two seconds to process the voice on the other line.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snapped, sitting up. A large part of my irritation stemmed from the headache beginning to blossom in my temples.

"Now, now, no need to be persnickety," Quinn said, sounding amused. I ground my teeth. "This isn't my idea, it was J's."

"I don't care," I replied. "I have nothing more to do with him._ Fuck off_." I snapped the phone closed and buried my head under my pillow, groaning.

"_Why don't you fill me up/fill me up/Buttercup/baby, don't you let me down…"_

"For the love of—What the hell do you want?" I barked as I flipped the phone open.

"Calm down, Nymph, and listen, or I'm going to keep calling."

"I can turn the damn thing off, you know," I threatened.

"Oh, but then I'll be forced to track down where you live," Quinn replied in her sickly sweet voice. "And that would be such a waste of thirty grand to have to move again, wouldn't it?"

I rubbed my forehead in frustration. This is what I get for giving him an inch.

"So let's be civil and talk this over the phone and avoid any unpleasantries, hmm?"

"Fine. What does he want now?" I said.

"He wants you to see him. Tomorrow."

"What?" I deadpanned.

"At Arkham. Don't ask me why, he didn't tell me." I was happy to hear that she sounded disgruntled by this. I was beginning to detest her smugness.

"What time?" I asked cautiously. I knew it was a bad idea to meet with the Joker after I renounced my connection to him, but everyone has a weakness. Mine was curiosity.

"Visitors are allotted half an hour between eight and eleven in the morning," she said. "Be there by eight, and say your name is Rachel Hammond. I can make it so you have privacy for fifteen minutes of that time. I'm not J's psychiatrist, so it's the best I can do. The rest of the time the two of you will be under human surveillance."

"Got it. Can I sleep now?" I received a dial tone in response. Muttering expletives in disgust, I set my alarm for seven and then burrowed back underneath my blanket. I was unable to get back to sleep for another hour out of anxiety. What the hell am I getting myself into?

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Morning dawned bright and excruciatingly early as I woke with a headache and my alarm buzzing like a loud, irate mosquito in my ear. It took a full half an hour for me to debate with myself on whether or not I should actually following through with meeting the Joker once again. Of course, curiosity won out.

I reluctantly slid out from bed and pulled on the jeans I managed to get out of and toss on the floor before passing out the night before. My grey tee was wrinkled and had a stain over my chest. I vaguely thought about taking a shower, but then I told myself I wasn't out to impress anyone. Especially him. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled my hair back into its usual ponytail.

I considered, as I poured myself coffee a few minutes later, putting some whiskey into the mug. Some good Irish coffee was what I needed on a day like this. I sighed, knowing I'd have to be completely sober to be in a room alone and unprotected with the Joker.

Oh well.

I took some Advil and downed my coffee before grabbing my jacket, my cell, and my wallet and heading out.

The drive across the bridge towards the Narrows was a nervous one. I chewed on a piece of hair that had fallen from the elastic as I anxiously watched the dilapidated apartments grow more and more dilapidated. Even the cab driver said he refused to park within a hundred meters from the gates of Arkham.

I had never been to Arkham before, and had only seen pictures and videos of it on the news. It was a lot more terrifying in person. People said that even if you were sane when you went in there, you would go barking mad before the week was out. Goosebumps ran up my arms as I stepped out of the cab. Approaching the gate, I couldn't deny that the faint sounds coming from the menacing brick building were screams. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Maybe a shot of whiskey before this wouldn't have hurt.

"Name?"

"Rachel Hammond," I replied to the guard. He peered at me for a moment before checking something on the computer inside the guardhouse.

"Visiting a friend?" I could hear the note of sarcasm in his tone.

"Yeah."

"Alright, you're clear to go in," he said, obviously bored. "Security check is through the front doors, and someone is there to escort you to the visitors' wing."

"Thanks," I replied as the gates swung open to let me inside.

The security check was a woman feeling me up for weapons, or anything that could be used as a weapon. I was forced to give up the chewed-on pencil in my jacket pocket. I was then told robotically about safety precautions around patients, how long I have as a visitor, when I may next visit, etc.

And there was Quinn, waiting for me at the end of the security brief. She wore horned-rimmed glasses and a white coat similar in cut to the red one she wore when I first met her. She still wore bright red lipstick on her smiling lips. Like most women silently and grudgingly admit to themselves about a woman they don't particularly like, she was outrageously attractive. Dangerously, even.

"Miss Hammond," she said as I approached. She looked at the guards flanking me. "I'd like to consult her privately, if you will."

"Yes, Dr. Quinzel," one replied. The two withdrew as Quinn led me off down another hall to an office with her real name on a plaque beside the door. She locked it behind us and headed behind her desk.

"Alright, Nymph," she started, her pleasant, professional attitude gone, replaced with the cool composure of the femme fatale. "Here is what is going to happen. You will be escorted to the visitors' wing, accompanied by those two guards. You'll be advised of safety by J's psychiatrist. I've convinced him that you handle J's finances. He's enough of a wet noodle that he didn't ask questions, so your identity is not in jeopardy. The guards will be right outside listening and watching for the first five minutes. I will be able to distract them for fifteen minutes as I stage a commotion with one of my patients. You have only that time to get everything straight with J, and the rest of the time you have to either fill up on your own, or you can simply leave. Am I clear?"

"Uh…yeah," I stated with a sigh. "Let's get this over with."

"You can let yourself out," she said, moving her attention to a stack of papers on her desk and sitting.

The guards led me down the hall that led to the visitors' wing. From the silence I heard in this part of Arkham, there weren't too many visitors. We reached a white-washed, circular room with a few metal doors leading into private rooms. The room was empty except for a pale skinny man with a rodent-like face was standing beside the door directly in front of us. He approached me and shook my hand. His palm was clammy.

"Welcome, Miss Hammond. I'm Dr. Cullen," he said. "Uh, before you go in, I'd like to talk to you about my patient, Mr. John Doe. We call him John for the sake of not using his only other alias. It might…provoke him, you see? Anyway, I must assure you right now that it is perfectly safe to be in the room with him. He is handcuffed to a bolted-down table in the room, and is under sedatives. I must warn you, however…" He coughed behind his hand, a nervous gesture. "…that if you begin to feel threatened, I suggest you ask to leave."

"Understood, Mr. Cullen. I don't expect our conversation to take too long anyway," I replied smoothly, marveling at the fact that Arkham couldn't assign a more competent doctor to the Joker.

"Well, then," he said, a weak smile on his face. "I won't deter you any longer. Open the door, please." He nodded to the guard beside him. A buzz and a click later, the door was pulled open and I hesitantly stepped inside, meeting the Joker face to face once again. And the first thing I heard from his lips was that unmistakable cackle.

"How's it goin'…_Rachel_?"

I said nothing for a moment, just examined him. He wore the standard orange jumpsuit of the inmates, but it was ripped and stained in many places. His green hair had been cut short to the light brown it once was, but he still wore his face paint. It was horribly smeared; most of the white was gone or cracked, revealing human flesh. The black circles around his eyes were faded to grey. Only the red smile remained vibrant, albeit smeared.

And, of course, I could not ignore the awful stench coming from him.

"Ugh…Do you not _shower_?" I exclaimed. He laughed again.

"Rarely as possible," he answered happily. "This paint ain't water-resistant, and a birdie can't seem to slip me enough to have me reapply every day. Last time I was able to was, uh…two weeks ago, I think?"

"Christ…" I swore, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I cautiously made my way to the chair on the other side of the table and sat. I noticed that as he licked his lips and turned his head on its side to watch me, I could see an angry red welt rising up on his neck from under his collar to just under his jaw, and more cuts and bruises on his hands and the bare skin on his face. I pursed my lips, but said nothing.

"You're not one to talk," he commented, leaning back in his chair. "_You _have the stench of the drink on you. What happened to shrooming?"

"A tequila a day keeps the clown away," I answered. "And I don't see why my habits are all that interesting to you."

"Because I'm waiting until they cause you to stop functioning," he said, raising his eyebrows lazily. "Just like the whole debate forum incident so long ago. You lost your job, you lost your friends, you lost your identity. I'm so excited to see what _actual_ drugs will do to you this time."

"We'll see when the day comes, won't we?" I sighed, making sure I breathed through my mouth.

"Why certainly," Joker replied, his teeth bared in a Cheshire grin.

"And _your_ drugs?" I commented slyly, noting his glazed eyes and lethargic movements. "Are they keeping you nice and normal?" The grin disappeared into a scowl.

"I may not be able to pull up the will to jump at you from my restraints, but that can be, uh, _remedied_ soon enough."

"Watch it," I said, staring him down. "I'm handling your…_finances_, right? Another threat and the negotiations are off." The scowl transitioned back into his grin.

"You've learned some things while I've been out of the picture. I like that," he told me, swiping his lower lip with his tongue as he shifted in his chair. "You know how to handle _people_. What on earth have you been getting yourself into?"

"I'm sure you already know," I said.

"Not the juicy details."

"Those can wait. Let's hear more about you. I'm curious, what is the Arkham cafeteria really like?"

He laughed again.

"Luckily, with the sedatives, I can hardly taste any of it," he said. "And it's so fun when a fight breaks out."

"I'm guessing you start a lot of those?" I said, looking pointedly at his facial wounds.

"Actually…no. Y'see, I'm not much beloved by the mob or the police. Or the general populous, for that matter. I may have knifed a distant relative or friend here and there…" He shrugged cheerfully. "I don't much care to be in the middle of fights. I like provoking the frenzy, stirring up a little chaos once in a while. The loonies here are just a bunch of Molotov cocktails waiting to start bursting into action. I only…help them along when things get too complacent. But it's the ones with a sense of vengeance that get a little agitated just by seeing my pretty face. The guards don't mind a swing or two at me either. Being on these _sedatives_," he spat it out like a dirty word, "doesn't help much in way of defense." For some reason, I frowned at this as well.

Just then, a harsh scream pierced the air. I jumped in my seat, startled. I heard footsteps and yells from outside the door.

"Well, now. Looks like my harlequin is right on time," the Joker smiled as the faces of the guards disappeared from the window in the door. "Now we can get down to business, Nymph. I want you to help me escape."

"I thought I did enough," I told him in exasperation. "I don't owe you any favors."

"Of course not," he said. "All you have to do is waltz in here and mess with a few wires. Disable the security system, turn off the lights. You know; all that fun stuff. Every door is controlled electronically, and you can get mine open easily."

"Why me? I know you have connections outside Arkham, use them. I don't want any part of it," I snapped, leaning forward over the table.

He leaned forward as well, bringing his face as close to mine as he could, being handcuffed to the table. "Because I want to press your limits, Nymph. Like seeing how far a rubber band will stretch until it snaps. You're thinking the straight and narrow, and I want to put a few kinks in you."

"You have no idea what I'm thinking," I said. "And how can I be sure you're not going to cut my throat as soon as you're out?"

"How come you came here to ask?" he asked. "You could have just as easily ignored my request and run off into the jungles of the Amazon."

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"And satisfaction brought it back."

The Joker smiled broadly. He paused for a moment, and then slowly leaned back, the sedatives making his movements sluggish whereas every motion used to crackle with barely-contained energy. "I may be careless of where I stick my knives, Nymph, but I'm a…man of my word. I'm not going to hunt you down. But if you happen to cross my path again and annoy me…" He spread his hands, as if powerless. I studied him for a moment. He may be a blade-toting sadist, but he presented a reasonable argument.

"I find myself believing you against my better judgment," I muttered. "But be you a man of your word or not, I still see no reason for me to help you."

"I'll leave you to your own choice. But while you think it through, I'd like to ask you about that little TV appearance you made a few weeks ago. What a lackluster performance! I thought better of you, Nymph." I made a face.

"I was having an off day," I said, breaking eye contact.

"One of many, from what I hear," he sneered. "Where, oh, where is that fanaticism that lit those eyes so long ago? Has someone been stealing your thunder? Who _have_ you been hanging out with, Nymphy?"

"A group of like-minded individuals," I stated blandly. "I've been with them before the Chinese."

"And you think this is going to interest me…how?"

"It's this group that blew up the Starbucks, and the same that's planning to blow up a federal building very soon. I'm not alone in actually forwarding my message this time, and I head the hacking and communications operations."

"That doesn't mean they're actually bringing the fire back to your, uh, motivation," he stated. "So what's the catch?"

"There's no catch," I lied. His eyes narrowed at me and his tongue darted across the corner of his mouth.

"Sure, sure. And I'm the world's greatest lover. So what is eating you? Your groupies? The drugs? Or maybe you just don't care anymore."

"I do care!" I barked. "Why do you think I want to broadcast it over the entire city? Do you know how long it took to get my men in the GCN? Why would I want to waste time and effort in something that I think is worthless?"

"Now, I'm not accusing you of pursuing worthless goals," he said scathingly. "And how are you so sure they won't sell you out like the Chinese?"

"They're not an ethnic minority mob," I said, rubbing my temples. Why didn't I bring extra Advil?

"I never thought you a racist, Nymph."

"You don't know everything, Joker," I growled, glaring at him. He was silent for a moment, his scarred cheeks only slightly curved in an uncharacteristically whimsical smile.

"No. No, I don't."

I watched him watching me, trying to gouge what was going through my mind. Part of me was screaming not to help him escape Arkham, repeating over and over that it would be stupid and immoral to set loose a madman. The other part of me dryly laughed at this evaluation and I realized that I didn't care one bit if it was immoral.

But, for some curious reason, I_ did_ care what kind of state Arkham had reduced him to. It was like chaining a panther in a cage. The human rationale was satisfied with this, but in the shadows of my instinct, a voice told me that there was something wholly unnatural about confining something so wild and dangerously beautiful. Even if the panther was savage and man-eating. I took a slow breath.

"Alright. If I'm going to do this right, it'll take me three to four days to make sure I have all the bases covered. I'm also going to have to pull up a new identity for me as a repair woman or—"

"So…you're saying yes?" the Joker asked casually.

I closed my eyes to regain composure and then opened them to reply steadily:

"Yes."

He smiled.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO


End file.
